


To Have and to Hold

by Courtanie



Category: South Park
Genre: Abduction, M/M, Master/Pet, One-Sided Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 37
Words: 107,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5067604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Courtanie/pseuds/Courtanie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Craig finds himself in possession of his own farmhouse on the outskirts of town. In order to make this new acquistion a home, it's going to take some elbow grease, some new furniture, and a long-awaited redheaded pet of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was a certain amount of disdain that Craig Tucker had always held for the legal system. Harassing his family, tossing him into jail for a few nights for possession of cigarettes when he was 16, and too many traffic tickets to even bother keeping track of anymore. However, glancing down at the paper atop his cup holder as he drove down a quiet back road, gray eyes tracing genially over his smooth signature above the line 'property owner', a part of him couldn't help but say a quiet thank you for the smoothness of this acquisition.

His grandparents always found him to be a troublesome kid when he was clammed up. They thought he needed disciplined, always encouraging his parents to have him go cut his own switch. A certain harbor of distrust was always prevalent amongst the Tucker family, or at least between Craig and his grandparents as he grew. Time and again they would try to push him out of his shell, get him away from his guinea pigs and 'working like a real man'. Even when he'd turned nineteen and moved out on his own with some money saved from a mediocre pet store manager position, they never seemed to let up.

But now, now it didn't matter. A missed stop sign from Grandpa's failing eyesight had silenced the both of them from nosing into Craig's life. The noirette's fingers gripped around his own steering wheel, tongue darting over his lips as his eyes remained lax on the gravel road.

"Man, this shit's out in the middle of nowhere!" a voice piqued.

Craig flickered his eyes to Clyde in the passenger seat, letting out a long breath through his nose. "They liked to stay away from 'troublesome' youth in the city," he rolled his eyes.

Token snorted from behind his seat, "Really? Because nothing screams 'meth den' more than a house in the middle of nowhere. Maybe they _were_ the troublesome youth."

Craig shook his head, choppy black bangs brushing along his forehead irritatingly. "The only thing young about them was whatever fucking groceries they bought that week. This house is full of old people shit."

"What's left at least," Clyde murmured, placing his cheek into his palm. Craig nodded softly in agreement. His grandparents had left fairly vague instructions for most recipients of their will. Everyone had specific things that were to be left to them, but everything else was a free-for-all, and from what he'd heard, most of the house had already been gutted. Craig himself had acquired what any other twenty two year old could only dream of: His own home, mortgage free. Needless to say, the rest of his family was not entirely happy with the notion that he was waltzing right into home ownership with only taxes to handle, but Craig considered it to be nothing more than payback for the constant years of bullshit that the two of them had put him through.

"Aren't you afraid of murderers out here?" Tweek's timid voice perked up, glancing nervously at the canopy of trees looming over them as the dust under the tires splayed about like tidal waves.

"If a murderer is willing to come this far out, then he pretty much deserves to kill whoever he wants," Clyde snorted. "He's workin' hard for his hobby."

Craig let out a small huff of a laugh through his nose, eyes gliding up a long, slight incline. "It's up here," he informed them.

Token glanced at his Rolex and raised his brow. "Twenty minutes? That's it? It's like we're in another world."

"We live in town," Craig rolled his eyes. "And you come from Snob Hill, so you even _knowing_ what a dirt road is is a wonder."

Token frowned as Clyde and Tweek laughed softly, giving the back of Craig's seat a gentle kick. "I'll remember that next time you guys need a loan," he said superiorly, nestling back against the cloth interior. He and Tweek leaned a bit closer together to look up through the middle of the console out of the windshield as they made their way up the hill.

Craig sighed as the eggshell home came into view, remembering listlessly how he and his sister would run around chasing each other with milk and garter snakes they'd found in the woods. He remembered his sister crying the first time he'd found a bright red and white milksnake and brought it up to the house, little seven year old him beaming proudly at his find and proclaiming he was going to let it eat her if she wasn't well behaved. And then Grandma had to spoil his fun telling Ruby that the snake was absolutely harmless, it was the Rattlers they needed to watch out for. He'd yet to find one in all the years they'd traveled on the weekends to visit their grandparents, but he could hear them echoing into the night now and again, letting him know that they _were_ out there and to tread lightly.

He pulled his truck up in front of the house, cutting the engine and hopping out without a word as the remaining three scrambled out behind him. "Man, what a dump," Clyde muttered, eyeing the peeling paint and the rotted wood hovering overtop on the porch awning.

"Don't fix what ain't broken," Craig quoted his grandfather with an eye roll. Clyde wasn't too far off, the place wasn't going to find itself on the cover of ' _Better Homes and Garden_ ' anytime soon.

Token glanced around, cocking his head at a looming structure in the backyard. He stepped a bit to the side and his eyes widened. "Dude, you have a barn?"

Craig nodded, "They used to have cattle. Then Gramps got too old to keep up with 'em so they sold 'em all off to slaughter."

Tweek shuddered, "That's not cool, Man. Being sold off like that. Jesus Christ they didn't even _know_!"

Clyde snorted, patting the blonde's shoulder. "They were probably proud to be your hamburger, Tweek."

"Jesus, don't say that!"

"Will you guys knock it off?" Craig sighed irritably, stepping off towards the barn with the others in tow. "Don't send Tweek into a goddamn meltdown again, Clyde. We're way too far from the coffee shops to deal with it right now."

The brunette pouted, "I wasn't gonna." Token shook his head, giving the brunette a gentle shove to follow after the receding Craig. They made their way up to the massive barn doors, the three in back watching with interest at Craig effortlessly undoing the elaborate locking mechanisms.

"Someone was born to be a farmhand," Clyde smirked.

"Someone was forced to do chores in this fucking thing every summer," he grumbled, undoing the fifth latch and stepping to the side to swing the door open. A long, eerie creak echoed through the woods, Token, Tweek, and Clyde shuddering at the noise. Craig remained still, waiting for the door to open enough for natural light to beam through the archway.

Token blinked, "Whoa."

Craig looked back at their dumbfounded faces and raised his brow. "It's a fucking _barn,_ not a museum, Jesus fucking Christ." He stepped into the large building, his shoes kicking up dust set upon the concrete floor. He glanced up to the large hay loft hovering overhead, peaks of golden wisps glittering in the dusty alcove. The glow of the sun beamed down through a skylight, the rays situated to the back like a spotlight against the wall. He stepped further into the space, his shoe's noises echoing into the empty area. Craig sauntered over to the back of the loft ladder at a supporting wall, giving a soft kick to the emergency water tank laid up against the wall at nearly a foot under his height. He pried open the lid, seeing a good foot of water still cresting the bottom and his nose wrinkled. Old water, apparently. He'd have to change that out. He glanced to the inscription on the lid, reading '130 gallons'. He tongued over his lips, wondering vaguely if he'd ever even have to utilize it.

"Dude, did you have horses?" Clyde's voice popped back up. Craig shut the worn metal lid, glancing at the array of tools situated against the wall as he made his way back out into the main fray.

He nodded, "They had two. Mitzy and Dumples."

Clyde snorted, "Dumples?"

He shrugged, "I was six and he was brown so I called him Dump. I don't even remember his show name we called him Dumples so much."

Clyde and Token broke into hysteric laughter and Tweek hid an array of quiet giggles behind his hand. Craig rolled his eyes, walking over and slapping Token and Clyde over the back of the head, flicking Tweek's arm along with it. "Clyde, you named your fucking cat Miss Fluffybottom. When we were _fifteen_ ," he drawled. "So don't even try." Clyde pouted, tinging red as Token and Tweek laughed harder.

"So," Token breathed out, wiping a dramatic tear from his eye. "What're you gonna do with this place?"

"Be great for parties," Clyde offered hopefully.

Craig scoffed, "Yeah, that's what I want. A bunch of people fucking up my fucking property." He started back out with the others following behind, Token and Clyde pouting at bit at the declaration.

"Dude, what the fuck else are you gonna do with a barn?" Token complained. "Think about it, parties down there, bonfire out here," he gestured towards the open pasture as they made their way to the house.

"People having fucking sex in the hay loft," Craig added dryly. "I ain't interested. I'll do something with it, I'm sure."

Tweek smiled, "You can get your own animals," he suggested. "Goats or...or somethin'."

Token snorted, "Craig the Goat Farmer. Sad thing is I can picture that just fine."

"Well goats would probably give me more of an enthralling conversation than you fuckers," Craig scoffed, digging the key out of his pocket and hurriedly shoving it into the knob, letting the door into the kitchen fling open. They stepped inside, Craig feeling a chill running down his spine as he recalled the smell of garlic chicken and rosemary potatoes roasting away in the oven wafting in the air almost every Sunday they came to visit. Sometimes a speck of buttered blackberry cobbler co-mingled in the aroma, his mouth salivating at the mere notion of the memory.

"Not much to this place, is there?" Token asked lazily, toeing at a piece of loose linoleum beneath them.

"Plenty for just me," Craig answered, stepping out into the living room. He shook his head, nearly every piece of furniture was gone. All that was left was his grandpa's lazy chair still situated in the corner, facing where the TV used to be. Maybe the rest of his family was like himself, they couldn't imagine that damn chair anywhere else in the world. Patterned with a gaudy woodland suede fabric, it stuck out like a sore thumb against the neutral beige of the plaster walls. Craig walked over to it, running his hand along the worn material, his finger tracing over a deer hiding in stalks of wheat. He took a deep breath, the musty aroma of the past clinging onto him like an acrid dust all of its own.

"Lost in memory lane?" Clyde teased.

The noirette didn't answer, too busy recalling how he used to play with his grandfather in this chair. Running at him at full speed while the old man stooped down and caught him, putting him in his lap and laughing before letting him head back to the far side of the room to go again. He sighed. There was always a glitter in his old, grey eyes when the grandkids would come over, one that faded as Craig grew older, became more distant and lost in his own wanderings. The boy frowned, clutching his fingers in the suede. He avoided his grandparents as he got older, what the hell had encouraged them to leave him their fucking house of all things? Ruby had only gotten Grandma's cooking supplies. Hell, his dad, their own _son,_ had only gotten Grandpa's rusted old station wagon.

Craig took a deep breath. Probably trying to get him to go onto what they considered to be the 'right path' more than likely. They never liked the fact that he shared an apartment with Clyde, Token, and Tweek. He was 'too old' for roommates, according to them. They probably wanted him to make the house into a home, find himself someone to 'court', as she had always put it, and make himself a family. He frowned. A couple of old fogies stuck in the mindset of the forties was all they were.

He cocked his brow at a glimmer behind the chair catching his eye. He grasped the seat, grunting as he moved it from the wall a bit. His eyes widened as he reached from behind, grasping the barrel of a shotgun and relinquishing it from its hiding spot.

"Holy shit," Clyde raised his brow. "Grandpa was packin' apparently."

Tweek gulped, moving behind the other two and watching Craig nervously as the boy observed the gun, fingers casually brushing over the varnished stock. "Craig, be careful with that thing, you'll blow our heads off!"

"Calm down," he said softly. "I know my damn gun safety," he said, resting his finger behind the trigger and glancing to the safety. He scoffed, pushing it down, "Old man apparently didn't though. Could've blown his damn head off if he rocked back into it."

"Jesus Christ," Tweek whimpered, clutching around Token's jacket in fear.

Token reached back and calmly patted his shoulder, staring at Craig still admiring the gun. "When'd you learn about gun safety?" he asked with a raised brow. "Your parents don't have guns."

He shrugged, "McCormick. Took his dad's gun and showed me how to use it about a year back because Broflovski didn't want to learn," he rolled his eyes. "The pussy."

Clyde snorted, "Kyle's pro-gun control, so what? We are, too," he gestured to their group of three. "Thought you were, too."

He shrugged again, "I don't really give a shit either way," he said, eyes tracing over the glistening barrel. He clutched around the forestock, stroking his thumb over the ribbed wood hungrily. His little experimentation with Kenny as they shot at clay pigeons had opened a new realm for him. He'd found himself obsessively researching different varieties and models, seeing which ones were the most lethal, the most stealthy. It was a fascinating hobby, one that he'd learned how to keep well hidden from his nosy friends and family. His countless hours of research showed him that he was now in possession of a Winchester, no doubt from his grandpa's war years. He'd heard enough about Vietnam to last him the rest of eternity.

He finally looked up from the weapon, glancing at the bared walls and carpet stained with indentations from long-lasted furniture being swiped away by members of the Tucker clan. He felt a small smile quirking on the edge of his lips as Token, Tweek, and Clyde moved around, exploring more of the house. A chair and a gun was all he needed. His grandparent's yearnings for him were off to a good start. He was already starting to feel more at home and ready to press forward.


	2. Chapter 2

Kyle couldn't help but pout, stuck in the middle of Wendy and Bebe gossiping like crazy over what had transpired since they'd last seen each other over the summer. He let out a long sigh, looking back at his stovetop, watching his array of burger patties sizzling and popping grease about as they rested in the skillets skillfully maneuvered to fit on all four burners.

"-le?!" a voice shrieked.

He shot his head over to see the girls staring at him impatiently. "Sorry, what?"

Wendy rolled her eyes, flipping her hair back over her shoulder. "I asked you what else needs done." She flicked his forehead and he grimaced at her a bit.

"I already have everything going," he said tiredly. "Fries are in, those blockheads have all the chips and shit," he waved towards the living room, wincing at a large cheer coming from the group of guys residing on the couch and folding chairs.

Bebe snorted, standing beside him and elbowing his waist. "You know, you don't _have_ to stay in here with the womenfolk," she gestured to herself and Wendy.

He smirked, "Well it's my kitchen for one thing, and I really couldn't give two shits about football," he rolled his eyes.

"Then tell Kenny not to watch here," Wendy suggested.

"Okay, no matter _where_ he watches, I'm going to end up being dragged along," he said dryly. "At least here I have an escape with an excuse that isn't that I randomly spawned a vagina," he scoffed. The girls broke into laughter and he shook his head. "Laugh all you want but being a guy who can cook is fucking _brutal_ ," he complained.

"Mm, yeah, but I get a tasty treat watching you bend over to get stuff out of the oven," a voice popped from the archway. They looked to see Kenny standing with a lecherous grin and Kyle rolled his eyes again.

"Please tell me that means your little ballfest is over," he pleaded.

He snorted with a wink, "My ballfest ain't ever over, Babe." He walked over, getting between him and Wendy and smiling down at the redhead. "First quarter just ended."

"Oh my goooodddd," he leaned his head back and groaned.

Kenny chuckled, throwing his arm over his shoulders and kissing his head lightly. "If it's _that_ much torture...you can always go to the store and get stuff for nachos?" he batted his lashes hopefully.

"I fucking _made_ nachos," he protested.

"They're gone," he shrugged. "Ky, we got like a thousand people over."

"...It's you, Stan, Fatass, and Butters," he said dryly. He paused and shrugged a bit, "Okay, I guess Fatass constitutes as 997 mouths when I think about it."

"Plus Craig and the guys are comin," he added. "Not to mention you three lovely ladies haven't eaten," he waved to the group.

Kyle grunted, slamming his elbow into Kenny's side and watching him double over primly. "Next time I'll aim lower," he warned.

"Duly noted," he rasped. Kyle sighed, stepping out of his hold and grabbing his spatula, flipping over his patties and staring at the meat changing color with dulled green eyes. This was the exact opposite of how he wanted to spend a Saturday. Kenny stepped up behind him as he took a long breath, shuddering at the smell and resting his head down on Kyle's shoulder. "We need a grill," he commented.

Kyle scoffed, "So you can make me cook outside, too? Where else would you like me to prepare your feasts, Your Majesty?"

Kenny backed up a bit and blinked at him, "Are you mad at me?"

"No," he bit sharply. "Just didn't think I'd be stuck in the house all day. Again," he glared at him shadily.

"You said you were okay with this!" he whined.

Kyle sighed irritably, knowing it was true, but still. "Why can't you just order pizza when you do this?" he asked tiredly.

"Because you cook awesome stuff and you like to have an excuse to not watch the game," he countered, wrapping his arms around his waist. "And don't even _pretend_ you don't love the compliments."

Kyle blushed, looking back to see Bebe and Wendy staring at them amusedly. "Get off of me!" he hissed, slapping his hands back listlessly against the blonde head. He herded Kenny back away from him and turned around, crossing his arms firmly. "I am _not_ your personal chef."

He raised his brow, "I never said you were."

"You just asked me to go recreate a fucking dish I already goddamn made!" he snapped.

"Boys, boys," Bebe chuckled, stepping up and putting her hands between them. "Ken, be nice."

"I'm always nice," he pouted. His face fell pathetically as Kyle spat out a sarcastic laugh at the notion.

"Kyle," Bebe raised her brow, "You said it was okay, you agreed to make the food, Honey."

He shot her a sharp look before sighing tiredly. "Whatever. Fine. Nachos." He muttered. "But that means someone else is in charge of this," he gestured to the stove.

"We got it, Sweetie," Wendy reassured him, patting his shoulder. "Just tell us-" she paused as a knock erupted on the kitchen door.

Kenny smirked, kissing Kyle's cheek. "Our esteemed guests have arrived."

"Unless you invited someone outside of Craig and his little gang I'm inclined to disagree," Kyle chuckled as he walked past, shrugging apologetically as Bebe punched his arm.

Ken whipped open the door, finding the group of four standing there and stepped aside, gesturing into the house. "Me casa es su casa," he said dramatically.

"Bitch, it's half my casa, too," Kyle raised his brow. "I ain't gotta share." Kenny snorted, closing the door as Tweek brought up the rear into the kitchen.

Token made a beeline for Bebe, leaning down and kissing her briskly, "Hey," he said sheepishly.

"Hey yourself," she grinned. "How was your little adventure?"

"Craig's got himself a barn," Clyde smirked, grabbing a piece of bacon from the counter and chomping away on it. "Looks like the fucking Texas Chainsaw Massacre could happen in there."

Kenny looked at the disinterested noirette and grinned, "Dude, nice. Gonna make yourself a little happy home?"

He shrugged, "Well, a home I guess."

Kyle looked at him for a moment and twisted his lips a bit, "Sorry about your grandparents, Craig."

Grey eyes locked in his and an unpleasant shudder ran down Kyle's spine at the intensity hiding under the monotonous hue. "Shit happens," he said plainly.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and nodded, "Yeah, I guess..." he looked at Wendy and sighed. "Okay, burgers up to 165, fries have about ten more minutes," he instructed. He walked past the group crowding his kitchen to the keyhook, snagging his car keys. "Ken, are either of our cars unblocked?"

Kenny shook his head, "Nah, I'll go tell Stan and Fatass to move and you can take the truck."

"Where're you going?" Tweek asked, trying to figure out their coffeepot.

Kyle chuckled a bit, "Ken, help him out," he gestured to the fidgety blonde. "I need to run to the store because _someone_ needs goddamn nachos," he raised his brow at his brightly grinning boyfriend.

"I can take you," a soft, flat voice entered the space.

Kyle whipped around at Craig who was staring at him, looking almost bored to death with the notion. "Dude, you don't have to, it's fin-"

"I need to get some food for Argyle anyway."

"The fuck kind of pussy name is Argyle?" Kenny laughed. He simmered down into stifled giggles with a sharp glare from the noirette.

"Come on, Broflovski," he muttered, turning on his heel and grabbing his keys back out of his pocket. He headed out the door and the remainder watched after him practically storming his way back to the truck.

Clyde raised his brow, "Dude, you know not to make fun of his stupid rodents."

Kenny shrugged casually, leaning down and kissing Kyle again. "Have fun," he said cheekily.

"Oh. Yeah. I'm sure it'll be a barrel full of laughs with him," he said dryly, checking for his wallet before kissing Kenny back and heading out the door. He stepped out into the sunshine, a content sigh escaping his lips. Free from the tiny cramped space of his location of servitude, he felt as though he could breathe again. Cooking for a lot of people was one thing. Cooking for a lot of people while they were all crowded around your already tight-quarters kitchen was on a completely different plane of awful. He glanced up to see Craig in his truck, waiting impatiently with the engine running. Kyle picked up a brisk jog and made his way over to the truck, grimacing as he realized it was taller than Kenny's. He opened the passenger door and grunted, grabbing the handle bar and clumsily using the running bar to propel himself upwards.

"Tweek makes it in just fine and he's only a little taller than you," Craig commented casually.

"Shuddup," he snapped, finally making it up into the seat and closing the door behind him. He took a long breath, barely able to click his seatbelt over himself as Craig sped back onto the road. He gulped, grabbing onto the side of the console nervously. He never liked being the passenger, even for Kenny. Being out of the realm of control in a four ton death machine careening over asphalt never boded well for him. He'd had to train himself to stop yelling in panic at obstacles he thought would take them out when Kenny would drive them around, since his frenzy was more often more dangerous than whatever he saw. He looked up at Craig, seeing his grey eyes set firmly on the road and breathed a small sigh of relief. At least he was focused.

"Calm the fuck down," Craig said, never looking towards him. "Unless a semi hits us, you're fine."

"Don't say that," he said meekly, green gaze scanning methodically for said semis.

Craig scoffed, "I knew you were a pussy, but Jesus fucking Christ, Broflovski."

Kyle shot him a sharp glare, "I'm _not_ a pussy. Excuse me for not wanting to be crushed to death, especially since the last person I'd see would be _you_ ," he crossed his arms, staring out the windshield with a firm pout on his lips.

"I doubt you'd mind it too much," he said nonchalantly. "Me being the last and all."

He scoffed, "Excuse me? What, you think you're my fucking idol or something, Tucker?"

Craig rolled his eyes, "No, but I'm not Cartman, so there's that at least," he shrugged dismissively.

Kyle blinked before nodding a bit, "Okay, point taken." He sighed, leaning back into the seat and trying to force his nervous body to relax. "So, how's the house?" he asked softly.

He shrugged again, "It's a house. Only thing left is a chair."

"Well...better than nothing?" he winced. Craig just gave a curt nod and the redhead sighed quietly to himself, running his fingers through his curls uneasily. He always felt like this around Craig, tensed and unable to keep a conversation going. He didn't mind so much in high school when he only had a handful of classes with him, but when Kenny started becoming closer friends to the guy, he'd been forced into many a situation where he was stuck alone in a room with the black-haired bore. He still didn't know what Kenny saw in him, why he was so casual and happy to have his company, especially considering the blonde's bouncing personality. Kyle grimaced to himself. He could just as easily ask the same question as to why Kenny found _him_ so appealing as well. But at least Kyle could hold a topic and occasionally give a goddamn smile. Craig's walls went up far too fast to get anything more than a sarcastic quip now and again.

"How much do you and McCormick pay for your house?" Craig asked suddenly, the redhead nearly jolting in shock at the sudden noise.

"Huh?" he raised his brow.

He growled under his breath, hating to repeat himself. "Your house. How much do you and McCormick pay?"

Kyle blinked and raised his brow. "Uh, well, it's a rental. It's $760 a month." He rolled his eyes, "It's about to get bumped up though because Kenny is insisting on a dog," he scoffed. "So it'll probably be around $790. Why?" he questioned.

"Just curious," he murmured. "How do you afford it?"

"Uh, jobs?" he looked at him like he was stupid. "Ken makes plenty at the shop and I'm making our extra money at the office," he waved his hand dismissively.

"Extra?" he repeated.

Kyle nodded slowly, "Yeah. His job covers rent and food and shit. Mine is for all the other stuff," he shrugged.

"So then why are you working if you don't need to be?"

Kyle blinked, confused at the turn of routine that this trip was taking. The last time he and Craig had talked this long was when Kenny pissed both of them off at once, and even _that_ didn't seem to be as drawn out as this one. "Because I go fucking crazy if I don't have something to do," he elaborated slowly. "Besides, I don't like not making my own money," he shrugged. "Ken and I share an account but still...I don't like living off of someone else's dime."

"Earning your keep then?" Craig asked as they pulled into the grocery parking lot.

The redhead took a deep breath, undoing his seatbelt and starting to climb out of the truck, nearly toppling as he forgot how high up he was. He shakily planted his feet on the pavement and looked to see Craig staring at him in that intense way again, another chill running down his spine. He coughed a bit awkwardly and ran his fingers through his hair, "I'm not 'earning my keep'," he retorted dryly as he found his nerve again. "I'm working with my boyfriend so we have a life," he said primly, walking towards the store. He felt Craig walking next to him, his body heat blaring in a brisk chill of wind. He refused to look at him, keeping his gaze locked firmly on the approaching store.

Craig watched him curiously, the way his arms were firmly crossed aside from the occasional break to push his bangs out of his eyes. His entire body seemed taut and uncomfortable. A tiny smirk played on the noirette's lips as they entered the store, Kyle turning and making a beeline for the dairy section. Craig followed close behind, Kyle feeling his eyes locked on the back of his head. Green irises stayed on the floor, wishing he'd just taken Stan's car to get here.

Kyle snagged a basket from beside an endcap, making his way into the cheeses and throwing blocks of different varieties into his holder. Craig raised his brow, "Just get fucking shredded," he said blandly.

The redhead scoffed, "I don't half-ass shit, Craig," he muttered.

"Living up to your full potential as a housewife?" he taunted.

The boy's head snapped over and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Fuck off," he hissed, slamming a block of pepperjack down into the basket and storming off towards the back of the store. Craig watched after him, smirking once again as he followed, finding Kyle standing at the meat case, picking up different packages of ground hamburger and checking the fat content.

He rolled his eyes at the concentration set on Kyle's face, "Just get the cheapest."

Kyle flickered his eyes to him and frowned again, "No. You don't go for the low grade shit. If you can fucking afford to get the higher quality of food, you do it," he raised his brow. "The less fat to drain the better."

"Why?" he asked dully.

Kyle rolled his eyes, wondering why he was even asking if he was going to adapt such an uninterested tone about it. "Because the more fat to drain, the less taste," he explained, throwing a 90%-er into the basket. "The more you have to take away from it, the less you're left with."

He turned on his heel, hurrying towards the chip aisle and just wanting to get back home. Craig stared at him as he bent over, grabbing a couple bags of tortilla chips and examining them closely. He nodded to himself, letting his eyes trace over the outline of the redhead's body. Silently under the bustle of the store a murmur floated aimlessly into the air, "I'll keep that in mind."


	3. Chapter 3

The blonde cursed, gritting his teeth as he focused all his strength down into his hand. Fucking cheese was like a brick in the damn pot. Kenny grimaced, throwing his opponent into the sink and throwing his hands up in defeat. "Kyle, one of 'em is just gonna hafta soak!" he called.

"Better only be one!" Kyle called from the living room, bouncing his leg atop the other as he lounged on their couch, a book clutched in his hand lazily. He smirked to himself as he heard Kenny grumbling in frustration. There was always that one benefit to being the kitchen bitch: He never had to do dishes. He sighed, sinking down against a throw pillow and letting his eyes gradually slide along the text, relishing in the quiet finally overshadowing the house. He didn't mind overly social days, but getting back to some peace was always welcomed. He looked up as a shadow popped over his text, smirking at Kenny's agitated face hovering from the back of the couch. "Problem, Dear?" he teased

Kenny pouted, "Dishes are hard."

Kyle snorted, "Well, fix the fucking dishwasher like you promised and it won't be so hard."

"Why don't _you_ fix it, Mr. Macho?" he rolled his eyes.

Kyle quirked his brow, marking his page and tossing the book onto the end table behind him. "Because according to you, _I_ shouldn't have to do those kinds of things since you know tools better," he said dryly. "Plus add that on to the fact that _I_ handle the bills, and the shopping, the cooking, and all the fucking cleaning sans the fucking bathroom-"

"Okay, okay," he held up his hands in defeat. "I'll fix it soon."

"Thank you," he smiled sweetly. Kenny rolled his eyes, hopping over the couch and plopping down on Kyle's legs, the redhead yelping and glaring at the added weight. Kenny grinned cheekily, "So did you have fun today?"

He rolled his eyes, "Yeah. A laugh and a half I'll tell ya, Ken. I just love being your kitchen slave."

"Mmm, you like being my every kind of slave," he wiggled his brows.

Kyle looked at him humorlessly. "Aren't you just so quick witted and clever?" Kenny nodded and Kyle slapped his arm a bit, leaning back and sighing. "Does Craig hate me?" he asked quietly.

Kenny blinked at the unexpected question before laughing softly, "What?"

"Craig. Does he hate me?" he repeated.

Kenny raised his brow, pushing himself down to the other end of the couch and intertwining their legs around one another's. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged, pushing some hair behind his ear. "I dunno. He just...has this air about him, ya know?" he winced.

He snorted, "Craig's _always_ had 'that air about him'." He paused and his face fell concernedly, "Did he say somethin'?"

Kyle kneaded his lip between his teeth and sighed. "He just...made this comment like I'm less than you," he winced. Kenny cocked his head and he shrugged. "I was talking about our jobs, he asked me if I was 'earning my keep'. Like...I dunno like I _owe_ you or something. It just bugged me," he admitted.

"You know I don't think that, right?" he raised his brow.

"I know, I know," he waved the notion off. "It just irritated me I guess. He's always talked to me like that. Like I'm less of a person than others or something," he shrugged.

Kenny leaned his elbow on the armrest, holding his cheek in his palm and watching his boyfriend carefully. "You never told me that."

"Well you started getting all chummy with him and it was when we first started dating," he rolled his eyes. "Stan convinced me not to say anything because it'd make me seem controlling."

The blonde snorted, "Babe, you _are_ controlling."

"Ay," he snapped, kicking Kenny's thigh a bit as he laughed.

Ken simmered down, staring at Kyle's thoughtful face and frowning. "What else has he said like that? I ain't never heard him say anythin' to ya."

"It's usually only when we're alone," he said quietly, staring at their legs. He sighed, leaning his head against the back of the couch as memories of high school seemed to fly back at breakneck speed. Partnered in Chemistry and having Craig unload all the work onto him. Berating him when he got a question wrong when he'd done nothing to help. This overwhelmingly constant _disapproving_ look the noirette seemed to only direct at him. He never liked the guy, despite his best efforts to try to get along with him. Today's events certainly hadn't aided his cause.

"Like what?" Kenny urged, tapping his hip with his foot.

Kyle sighed through his nose, "Well, it's gotten worse since we started going out," he admitted softly.

Ken raised his brow, "Kyle, we started going out four years ago."

"I know," he shrugged. "But before that, he was just...always _hovering_ ," he winced. "Like...like he was my parent or a teacher or something. Any time I'd fuck something up, no matter how small, he'd like... _reprimand_ me for it," he bristled. "But, only when we were alone. It was the weirdest fucking thing. And it was never... _mean_ ," he winced. "Just these strange things like always telling me how I should know better or something along those lines."

Kenny blinked, watching Kyle shifting uncomfortably and not raising his eyes from their legs. "Want me to stop hanging out with him?" he asked quietly.

He shook his head, "No. No, he's never like, cruel or anything, he just gives me this iffy kind of vibe now and again. Maybe I'm just reading him wrong," he shrugged. "He's always just seemed a little off-kilter."

"My theory is Asperger's, personally," Kenny offered with a casual shrug. "He's fine once you get him goin', but he's got a weird block to get over first."

Kyle blinked, leaning his own cheek into his palm and mirroring the blonde. "Do you think that's it? I just haven't talked to him enough to break down the wall or whatever?"

"Maybe?" he shrugged again. "Can always hang with me and him more if you want to try to get comfortable with him."

The redhead nodded slowly, biting his lip in thought. "I mean, it's worth a shot. If he's going to be involved in our lives, I suppose it'd be nice to not have to sit there worrying that he's judging me," he rolled his eyes.

"Look, you try it out, and if it doesn't work, I stop hanging out with him around you, okay?" he offered.

He smiled softly, "You don't have to do that. I'll just deal with it even if shit still seems off."

Kenny waved him off, "Babe, it's cool. 'Sides, he's got his own house now, so it's not like we don't have anywhere else to go, ya know?" He looked up at Kyle's skeptical face and snorted. "I don't mind," he assured him. "I'm sure if I told ya the same about Stan, you'd be pulling out the same stops."

"After a massive fight and me trying to win you over to Stan's side of course," he smirked.

Ken chuckled, "Well, yeah. I just have to accept that I'll always be the second man in your life."

Kyle grinned, leaning up off his side and plopping down on Kenny, kissing him softly. "Bout time you figured that out," he teased. Kenny chuckled, running his fingers up through his red curls and bringing him down for a longer kiss. Kyle's hands busied themselves with cupping Kenny's cheeks and slowly starting to work off the blonde's clothes as he found his own shirt being thrown across the room. He sighed contentedly as teeth scraped along his neck and a tongue lightly flickered against his pulse. He leaned his head atop Kenny's lovingly, moaning softly at the precise touches brushing over his body like static. His petty worries could be pushed aside for now, after all, he and Kenny had _much_ bigger problems to work out.

* * *

Craig sat in his bed in his apartment, looking at the boxes piled high to be thrown into his truck in the morning. He could hear Token, Tweek, and Clyde still watching their movie, Tweek occasionally screeching while the others tried to calm him down, assuring him that 'Black Sheep' was just a damn satire.

He let out a long, steady breath, glancing at Argyle sniffing around his paper bedding in the cage upon his nightstand, hiding treat pellets for later. He smirked lightly, eyes scanning the guinea pig's home for discrepancies. Water, food, and toys all looked good. He nodded to himself satisfactorily, ensuring for a final time that the lock was properly done up, jiggling it just a bit. Argyle looked up at the noise, nose bouncing in as he stared up at the hovering human. Craig eyed the two diamond colorations along his back, the tortoiseshell running down in black, red, and white.

Methodically he turned on his lamp on his other nightstand, getting up and turning off the main light, snagging a book from his desk as he made way back to the bed. He ran his fingers along the spine of the the book; A photo album he'd had filled from four years ago. Those of other times were already packed away, but he knew he'd be wanting this one in particular for tonight. His eyes automatically flickered to the box where he knew his precious Canon was secured in its case and surrounded by bubble wrap to keep it from moving on the short trip. He'd made that thing part of his hands the last six years, wanting to capture anything that he could find in his lens.

He slowly opened his book, flipping through pages as he leaned against his headboard. Images of friends and family alike scattered along, ordered by date. He took a deep breath, opening exactly where he wanted; January 25th of four years beforehand. He took a deep breath, grey eyes falling onto exactly what he wanted: A picture of Kyle and Kenny standing next to each other and smiling from Craig's birthday party. Before they'd become official, _right_ before they'd announced their secret the next day. Craig remembered quite clearly Kyle's reasoning for not telling everyone sooner: _'Well we weren't gonna take attention away from Craig, Stan. It was his fucking birthday party, Dude.'_

Craig bit his lip, fingers twitching. He looked up in consideration for a moment before breaking his own rule, letting his fingers slide into the plastic covering and pulling out the picture. Fingerprints be damned, he needed it in his hand right now. He threw the album to the side, free hand moving on its own to his nightstand drawer, pulling out a concealed bottle of hand lotion. His vision moved methodically along Kyle's slender form, frozen forever in time for him. That smile not directed at McCormick, oh no, it was just for _him_ and _his picture_.

He genially opened the button of his jeans, moving them and his boxers down enough for his cock to brush out of the fabric. He bit his lip, the skin already half-hard just from _looking at him_. Craig slowly placed the picture on his legs to douse his palm in lotion, snatching the image back up so as to not lose a moment of the stillness. He shuddered as he wrapped his cooled hand around his aching dick, slowly beginning to work himself.

Kenny wasn't in that picture, nor the tree behind them or the snow beneath their feet. Only Kyle was there, a blank void surrounding him so that the redhead shined in place, brought all the attention to himself. Craig let out a shaky breath. That was just how it _always_ was.

His mind fleeted back to Kyle from earlier that day. His hair was a little longer now, lush and full curls suited beautifully atop his head. He was paler, having just gotten back from a trip to Mexico with his family when the picture was taken. A light spray of freckles was much more prevalent, standing stark against his cheekbones in the right lighting, one that Craig wished he could capture in a photograph. Wished he could trace his tongue along the specks, feel the heated blush that Kyle always had in his pocket radiating into his mouth.

Craig groaned, thumbing over his slit and letting his eyes slip shut, his thumb stroking over Kyle's picture, running up and down his body like he knew he should be right now in the flush. Taking in _every_ inch of pale skin hidden underneath the dress pants and shirt he was so often forced to wear for his job. It'd been so long since high school, so long since he'd seen Kyle in the showers after gym, hair mashed down heavily against his head, long trails of soap and water careening down sinewy, but subtle muscle brought out by a long bout of basketball. It'd been so _long_ since he'd watched Kyle discreetly as he washed his hair, fingers twisting and twirling in the chaotic splash of red that stood out like a beacon against the tiled white walls.

His mind's eye drifted down Kyle's toned back, splashed with more dusky freckles as though a map towards his ass. Craig bit his lip, hips arching into his hand as he remembered a particular day where Kenny had been in class with them, not two days before he and Kyle got together, where the blonde slapped that firm ass and Kyle yelped like a girl. Craig remembered how Kyle cursed up a storm, a reddened mark forming on the skin that Craig couldn't take his eyes off of before remembering just where he was and hurrying out of the showers with conditioner still sopped in his hair. He'd had to wash it out in the bathroom sink after 'resolving his issue' in a stall.

"Fuck," he breathed out almost silently. Kyle's voice echoed in his mind, though he could never seem to find anything nice that the boy had said to him. That didn't matter though, all that mattered was the tone; Strong and virile when he needed it to be, soothing and cautious when it was called for. Craig gulped, having been on both ends of the spectrum and not quite able to figure out just which one called to him more. Maybe the one where Kyle screamed bloody murder at him for tripping him and making him drop his project for anatomy on the floor and break it. Perhaps where he caught Craig smoking outside under the bleachers and lectured him about being so careless about where he smoked and to take it off school grounds.

Or, more than likely he believed, his favorite was when they were locked in a long conversation involving Kenny upsetting both of them by not showing up where he promised to meet them. Kyle was frustrated to the point of tears, Kenny's absence piling onto what had already been an utterly shit day for the redhead. He'd told Craig of Stan ditching him for Wendy and leaving him to ride with Cartman to school. How someone had thrown a book at him for raising the curve in trigonometry. And how he'd forgotten his insulin that morning so he was an exhausted disaster all throughout the day. The redhead's usually vibrant voice and personality seemed crushed, his tone wavering and green eyes glistening with tears that he refused to shed but so _desperately_ wanted to.

Craig had listened to him and responded thusly, not caring about his troubles, but wanting so badly to touch that reddened face, hold it in his hands and stare at the boy as he burst into tears, melting into a needy puddle in Craig's palms. He wanted then and there to have his camera, freeze that moment for himself. A constant reminder that while Kyle was strong, _everyone_ has their breaking point.

And Craig couldn't help but wonder just how much it would take to get him there.

"Fuck!" he hissed, hips jerking up as the coil building inside of him sprung loose, feeling himself releasing into the air and down again onto his hips and stomach in warm puddles. He sighed contentedly, unwillingly releasing his cock as it began to soften and creaking his eyes open. He couldn't help but grin at the small stain now leaking down off of Kyle's face. He licked his lips, letting out another sigh and streaking his thumb through the mess and covering Kyle's innocent smile.

Marring a picture was one thing, but a person as a whole was a completely different story. Craig looked again at the boxes lining his bed, nodding to himself with a lazy smile spread over his face. It was going to be moving day, and it was going to be a whole new beginning in his life. And, if it all went to plan, a new beginning to Kyle's, too.


	4. Chapter 4

Moving was certainly a universal disdain, and to the nine helping Craig move into his house, the feeling was definitely unanimous. Trekking up and down from Craig's truck and the U-Haul that Token had rented for him carrying furniture and boxes in a nonstop train of exhaustion, the group was feeling the work of the day wearing on their bodies and nerves alike.

"Why are we even helping with this shit?" Cartman muttered as he, Stan, and Kenny struggled to get a grip on the couch to get it out into the house.

"Because he's our friend," Stan sighed tiredly, wiping sweat from his brow on his shirt sleeve. "Or something I don't know what he is exactly."

Cartman scoffed, "He's a dickhead piece of shit. Why didn't he hire movers?" he whined.

Kenny rolled his eyes, "Because not everyone's mothers can afford to hire them for their kids like yours, Asstard. Shut up and git t' liftin'." Cartman flipped him off before the three of them bent down, trying to get the couch into the air. They made it up to their knees before setting it back down and panting. "Jesus _Christ_ is there gold in here?!"

"I think it's a sleeper sofa," a voice popped up behind them. They turned to see Kyle smirking tiredly, "Need a hand?"

Cartman scoffed. "Yeah, because if _anyone_ can help us, it's the ninety pound anorexic Jew."

Kyle scowled, "Better ninety pounds than nine hundred, Tubsy!"

"AY!"

"Guys, shut the fuck up," Stan pleaded. "Kyle, yes, please help us." Kyle nodded curtly, shooting Cartman another scathing look as he slid past Kenny, flicking his ass teasingly as he made his way to the back end of the couch. He bent down with the others, waiting for someone to give the go-ahead. "All right," Stan sighed tiredly. "One, two...three!" he counted off, the four of them lifting the furniture into the air up to their waists. They all gritted their teeth, slowly meandering their way down the awkwardly tilted ramp with Cartman clumsily stepping down it backwards.

"Craig better fucking pay us," he hissed as the weight of the sofa leaned on him. They hurriedly scrambled down the rest of the way, evening the distribution back out and heading towards the front door, Token and Butters clearing a path for them through the boxes.

Kyle rolled his eyes, "This is what good people do, Cartman. Without expecti-FUCK!" he screeched.

"You okay?" Kenny asked worriedly.

He nodded briskly, eyes closed painfully, "Let's get it inside, right the fuck now."

They raised their brows before nodding back, hurrying through the path towards the living room. Kenny stepped from his side to make room and got beside Kyle, watching him worriedly as he helped support his end of the couch. They finally breeched the threshold of the door and pivoted to drop the sofa in the living room, letting Craig figure it out from there. Kyle ripped his hand out from underneath, wincing at a good sized gash in his palm.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Kenny gaped, helping him hold his hand up above his head and herding him into the kitchen. "Craig! We need paper towels and a first aid kit!" he called.

The noirette came in through the living room with a box in his hand, raising his brow. "I don't have one."

"Well do you have paper towels or _something_?" he asked, turning on the kitchen faucet and holding Kyle's hand under the water. "Ky cut himself pretty bad on your couch."

"How'd you manage that?" Craig asked the wincing redhead dryly.

He blinked and cleared his throat, "I uh...I think a spring's loose underneath it," he said softly.

"Wow. Leave it to you. Thought you were smarter than that, Broflovski," he scoffed. "I'll go find something," he waved them off, dropping the box to the floor and turning on his heel.

They watched after him and Kenny turned down to look at the redhead. "Okay, I think I see what you meant," he said softly.

"So it's not just me?" he questioned. "That's weird, right?"

The blonde nodded, kissing his forehead gently and stroking his wounded hand with his thumb. "I'll talk to him," he said.

"Don't," he shook his head. Kenny looked at him confusedly and he sighed, "Kenny, I don't need you to lecture him for me, it might just make things worse," he winced. "Just...let me figure out a way to stop him, okay?"

Kenny took a deep breath and nodded. "Fine. But if he gets too much like a dickhead I'm not responsible if I punch his lights out."

"And I'm not responsible if I have to have sex with you right then and there for defending my honor as such," he purred mischievously.

Ken grinned lecherously, planting a deep kiss on his lips. "Don't tempt me to punch him for no reason, now."

"Mm, there's always a reason," he chuckled, leaning up and kissing him again, their tongues traveling along one another's casually.

"Ahem," a monotonous intrusion broke through. They looked to see Craig standing with a rag in his hand. Kenny shrugged and grinned, Kyle's face erupting into red. The blush faded as he saw Craig's eyes locked in his own, a scolding tone about them. He almost ducked down but forced himself to stay upright and stare at the boy straight on.

"Thanks," he finally said.

Craig handed the rag to Kenny and shrugged, "Don't fucking bleed in my house," he said finally before turning and heading back out.

"Always willing to help, that one," Kenny muttered, shutting off the water and grabbing Kyle's wrist, working to wrap the rag around his hand.

Kyle sighed, watching him work. "I could've done this myself, ya know."

"I know," he winked, kissing his temple. "Just deal with your wounded pride and lemme help."

Kyle smiled softly, "I haven't beaten you off yet, have I?"

"That'll come later," he wiggled his brows. "After all, you're left handed," he teased, shaking his torn right hand for emphasis.

The redhead shook his head and chuckled, "Good to know you have my health held in such high priority."

He shrugged, brushing his lips over his brow. "I do, I just like benefiting from your health, that's all."

"Hm," he rolled his eyes, bumping him with his shoulder and starting to lead him back out to the trucks. "At least you're honest I suppose." Kenny chuckled, patting his ass as he passed him to get back to the U-Haul. Kyle paused, looking at the rag on his hand and cocking his brow. He poked at it a bit, unfurling a bit of the fabric tucked in by the crook of his thumb. He narrowed his eyes at a slightly crusty stain lingering against the white cloth. "What the-"

"C'mon, Jew!" Cartman shouted. "You can still carry shit!"

"Fuck off," he murmured almost to himself, feeling an uncomfortable twisting in his stomach as he forced himself to look away from the rag. He gulped it down, making way to Tweek and Butters, knowing that they were working on the lighter stuff and not wanting to aggravate his hand. He bent down at the waist and grabbed a box of movies, standing back up to see Craig staring at him from the U-Haul. They looked at each other in silence before Craig turned away and made way for the house again. Kyle shifted a bit and took a long breath as he started to go as well. The end of the day just couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

Things were just starting to feel worse, and the redhead just couldn't figure out _why_.

Their group sat around a table at Ronnie's Diner, all on Craig's dime, talking and laughing and poking fun at each other just like any other time. All of them were just trying to relax from the stressful day that they'd laid behind them. But Kyle just couldn't get himself to relax, consistently staring down at the table, only responding when addressed. His chest was tightened, his stomach in knots. And worst of all, he could feel Craig's eyes locking on him now and again. Never long enough for anyone to take notice, but enough for him to feel a chill creeping up his spine, his hair standing on end from the nearly telepathic contact.

"Babe, what's wrong?" Kenny leaned over and whispered in his ear.

"Nothing," he said quietly. The blonde looked at him in concern, grabbing his hand under the table. He knew Kyle was lying, but he also knew he wasn't going to get anything out of him until they were alone and Kyle felt safe to say what he had to say.

Another voice broke through the both of them and they flinched. "I'm paying for your fucking food, Broflovski, the least you can do is talk to people," Craig lectured.

Kyle raised his eyes, meeting those gray stones and gulping, nodding subtly. "Sorry. I just...don't...feel well," he said quietly. "Thanks for dinner," he smiled meekly. Craig nodded curtly, turning back to Clyde as the brunette proceeded to ramble about something Annie had told him.

Kenny looked at his boyfriend again and back to Craig, noting how tensed Kyle felt when the noirette addressed him. He bit his lip as his gaze flickered between the both of them, feeling an odd tenseness weighing down the air. "Welp, it's getting late," he announced much to Kyle's, and everyone else's, surprise.

"It's 7:30," Stan raised his brow.

"Yeah but I got work _super_ early and need to get home," he said, standing and stretching. "So, thanks for the grub, Craig."

Token blinked, "You barely touched it."

"Someone bag it up and take it home then," he said sharply through clenched teeth. "C'mon, Ky, let's go home," he looked down at the redhead and jerked his head to the side. Kyle stared at him, nodding slowly.

"Okay," he said quietly. He looked at Craig briefly, "Thanks again," he murmured, letting Kenny grasp his shoulder and lead him out of the restaurant. He shuddered as a monotonous 'whatever' rumbled through the air. He gulped, Kenny quickly pushing him out the door as he felt the boy tense more.

He shut the heavy glass door behind them and looked down at Kyle who was staring at the sidewalk embarrassedly. Ken sighed, grasping his good hand and leading him towards his truck, snagging his keys. "Do you wanna drive so you're not overwhelmed?" he offered kindly.

Kyle shook his head, "I...I can't drive right now."

Ken nodded, opening Kyle's door and watching him silently climb into the seat, staring at him for a moment before closing the door. He walked to his side of the truck, looking to see Craig staring in their direction from the window. He narrowed his eyes a bit confusedly. He was staring into the truck, at _Kyle_. " _What the fuck_ ," Kenny mouthed before shaking his head, hopping into the driver's seat and slamming his seatbelt on.

He quickly turned the ignition, glancing to see Kyle and Craig seemingly locked in each other's stare, Craig looking almost angry and Kyle on the verge of panic. He growled, whipping out of the parking lot and breaking his boyfriend's staring contest. "You don't have to go near him again," he said firmly.

Kyle's face dropped, "Ken, it's not that. It's-"

"Bullshit, Kyle," he shook his head as he turned down onto the main road. "How fucking retarded do you think I am?"

"I don't think you're retarded," he replied meekly. "I just think I'm overreacting...or something..." he said quietly, leaning back in the seat and staring out the windshield, noticing just how relieved he felt to be out of Craig's line of sight and biting his lip worriedly. He just couldn't figure this out for the life of him.

"Ky, what is going on?" he pleaded. "You don't get like this, Dude."

He nodded softly, "I know. Something just...I don't know, Kenny, something just feels so _off_. I _swear_ it's worse than it was just yesterday and I can't figure out why!" he put his hand over his eyes and shook his head.

Kenny paused, coming to a stop at a red light and looking over at his troubled boyfriend. He reached over and grasped his hand from off his eyes, linking their fingers together. "You don't have to see him again," he promised.

"Don't you think I'm overreacting?" he blushed a bit.

Kenny shook his head, looking back in front of them as the light changed, his hand still firmly grasping the redhead's. "No. I've never seen you act scared of someone like this, so I don't think you are."

"I'm not _scared_ ," he insisted. "I'm just...uncomfortable."

The blonde was silent for a moment, squeezing his fingers. "Well, I ain't ever seen you uncomfortable like this," he finally said. "Usually you get pissy and snappy when you're uncomfortable. You don't hide."

Kyle blinked at him, slowly returning his sight back to the road and heaving a heavy sigh. "I'm really sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be," he assured him. "You ain't gonna like everyone I associate with, and I don't expect you to be everyone's best buddy, okay?"

"There's a difference between being buddies and... _this_ ," he murmured. He sighed again, his bandaged hand pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. "I just wish I knew why I keep feeling like this."

Kenny shrugged, "I couldn't tell ya, Babe. But I won't bring him around anymore."

Kyle licked over his lips, "I don't want you to do that, he's your friend," he said quietly. "This is something I need to work through."

Kenny frowned, "Okay, but-"

"If you're there, I'll be fine," he protested.

He sighed heavily, "You weren't fine at the restaurant."

"It's been a long day," he said tiredly. "I'm just exhausted and my mind is all over the place. Maybe that's all this is."

Kenny folded in his lips, biting them softly and nodding. "Maybe," he murmured. He glanced at the boy and his heart dropped at the pure distress etched on his pale face. His mind flashed back to those stoic eyes piercing through the windshield at Kyle and he bristled, grasping his hand just a little tighter. Exhausted or not, he'd never seen Kyle like this before, and he didn't quite know how to handle it. He breathed out lengthily through his nose. Either way, he needed to have a little talk with Craig fucking Tucker.


	5. Chapter 5

Craig had a certain affinity for dogs, he always had. His parents had always denied him one on account of Ruby's allergies, and then living with Tweek prevented him from having anything that could possibly jump on the blonde and send him into a panic attack. But now, he had the house, he had the land, and he had the opportunity of a lifetime.

He looked at Clyde standing next to him, looking into various cages and making faces at the imprisoned canines. A Scotland Terrier yapped at him sharply and he backed up in fright, Craig rolling his eyes. "Don't get that one," Clyde said, pointing at the small, scrappy dog accusingly. "He's evil."

"That's a she," he said plainly, pointing to the card atop the cage. "And I don't want a small dog anyway."

They both looked up as a plump women with wrinkles dotting the corners of her eyes tiredly bumbled towards them. "Hello," she said exhaustively. Craig scanned her up and down, noting the spilled wet food staining her pant leg and nodding to himself. Rough day for her meant no bullshit, she'd want them out as quickly as possible. Good.

"I want a dog," he said dryly.

"Obviously," she quirked her brow. Clyde snorted a bit while Craig remained stone-faced, staring the woman down. "What kind of dog?" she sighed.

"A large one, preferably one that's trained already," he stated.

She nodded slowly, turning and waving for the boys to follow her. "Have you had a big dog before?" she questioned.

"No, but I finally have the land for one and I manage a pet shop so I know what I'm doing," he replied.

"Well, that's a good start," she smiled a bit back at him. She led them back to the far corner of the shelter, gesturing to the bottom row of cages. "These are our bigger dogs," she explained. "We don't get many, to be honest. Most of the larger go to the kill shelters."

Clyde stared at her, "So you guys don't euthanize?"

The woman shook her head, "Only if they're very ill. And even then we take them to someone else to do it. Honestly, the town's small enough that only two shelters is plenty." Clyde nodded a bit as Craig remained staring at the dogs, running his eyes down the line.

Fifteen different breeds to choose from, and he had to do this correctly. He licked his lips a bit, "Are all of them trained?" he asked nonchalantly.

"All except Rosco here," she gestured to a Doberman in the second cage. "He can sit but that's about it. The rest of them were all received when they were younger, so we sent them through obedience school."

Craig nodded slowly with her words, grey eyes scanning and landing on a large ball of fluff sitting and staring at him with a long tongue hanging out, deep brown eyes brimming in excitement at the newcomer. "How about this one?" he gestured towards it.

"That's Lila," she explained. "She's a Collie that we got when she was seven months old. She's about a year and a half now."

Craig knelt down in front of her cage, eyes skimming over the long red and gold coloring of her fur, the softness visible even through the bars of her cage. "How much?"

Clyde snorted in laughter, "Dude, you don't have sheep, what the hell do you need a Collie for?"

"She's a farm dog and I have a fucking farm," he murmured, gaze lingering on the ember fur whisked up just so a slight curl spread her coat out even farther.

The woman cleared her throat, "Well, you have to fill out an application. Then it'll take about three days for us to run your background check. She'll be about $250 if all goes through."

"For a dog you _want_ to get rid of?" Clyde asked dryly.

"Takes money to spay and train, Clyde," Craig muttered, putting his finger into the cage cautiously, smirking to himself as Lila gently licked his fingernail. "I want an application," he declared.

She nodded, "I'll go find you one." She turned on her heel and began walking back to the front of the building.

Clyde kneeled down beside him and looked between him and Lila. "Are you _sure_ you want this fucking furball? What about that Pit down there?" he gestured to a merle-coated dog staring at them vacantly.

"No, I want a smart one," he said distantly, running his finger up the side of Lila's muzzle. "She's perfect." Clyde rolled his eyes, turning his attention to a Dalmatian next to him and cooing at his spots. Craig kept his eyes locked on Lila, whose expression seemed to dance, like she _knew_ she was going home. "Don't worry," he promised her quietly under Clyde's incessant baby noises to the Dalmatian. "You'll like it at my house." He grinned slyly, "I _always_ take good care of my pets."

* * *

Kyle sighed, lounging once more on the couch with his book and flipping through disinterestedly. Mondays were always a bore since the office he administrated at was closed. His day usually consisted of grocery shopping and some basic clean up before just waiting for time to start dinner in time for Kenny to get home. His nose perked at the smell of his meatloaf cooking away and he sighed, putting his book down on his stomach and looking up at the ceiling with glazed eyes. He was tired. Just so goddamn tired. He hadn't been able to sleep last night, hell, he'd barely been able to shower he'd just felt so off. This was driving him absolutely insane, and it wasn't doing Kenny much better either.

The blonde tried to insist on himself calling off work and spending the day with him, but Kyle adamantly refused, knowing that the day would consist of Kenny coddling him, which was the _last_ thing he wanted. He glanced at his phone for the time and sighed, sitting up and stretching, cracking his neck a bit and setting his book back onto the end table.

He smacked his lips tiredly, swinging up and onto the floor, socked feet plodding softly as he made way back into the kitchen. He grabbed a bag of potatoes from the basket on the counter, slowly making his way to wash and peel them. As he worked, his eye kept drifting to his right hand, now bandaged properly thanks to Kenny's first aid kit. He remembered the rag, now tumbling in the wash with their sheets, recalling the strange stain on it. Why did it seem so off? Something about it just felt so _weird_.

He shook his head, working himself out of his stupor. "Calm the fuck down, you're being ridiculous," he muttered to himself. "This is Craig, not fucking Cartman," he rolled his eyes. Kyle sighed, plopping four peeled potatoes down onto a cutting board and sliding his chef's knife from its holder. He stared down at the spuds blankly as he began to chunk them, forcing himself to even out his breathing. This was just surreal. He'd never felt so confused and conflicted in his damn life.

Maybe Craig stared at everyone like that and he just never noticed. But Kenny _did_ say it was weird how he'd talked to him, so there was a lingering doubt he just couldn't snuff out. He groaned to himself and shook his head. He was overreacting. He was proving fucking Cartman of all people right and just getting worked up over nothing. Maybe.

He shot out of his wonderings at a knock on the kitchen door. His breath hitched as he noticed a mop of black hair from behind the curtain. "W-who is it?" he called out.

" _Dude, it's me_ ," a familiar voice called. Kyle sighed in relief. Just Stan.

"It's open," he said, watching as Stan made his way into the kitchen, looking at him in concern. "You okay?" Kyle asked.

He shut the door behind him slowly, watching him with a raised brow. "I think the question is are _you_ okay?"

Kyle cleared his throat, continuing to work on his potatoes. "Whaddya mean?"

Stan came over, plopping into one of the barstools across the counter and staring at him cautiously. "You were super off last night at dinner, Dude. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said hurriedly. "Just had a headache. You and Wendy wanna have dinner here?" he offered, trying to move the subject along. "Otherwise, me and Ken will have leftover meatloaf for weeks."

He nodded slowly, "Yeah, I'll tell her to come over later. But first you need to stop fucking lying," he cocked his brow.

Kyle froze, looking at him and blinking rapidly. "I'm not lying."

"Bullshit," he scoffed. "Ky, I know you better than anyone...besides Ken, I guess," he rolled his eyes. "Something was off, that's why Ken got you out of there in such a damn hurry."

Kyle took a deep breath, turning and grabbing two more potatoes to work on, starting a pot of water and setting it on the stove to boil. "I just felt weird, that's all," he murmured.

"Why? Did you forget your insulin again?"

"No," he sighed.

"Did Kenny piss you off?"

" _No_ ," he gritted his teeth.

Stan paused, looking at him carefully. He glanced at Kyle's hands trembling as he peeled another potato, bringing the peeler dangerously close to his fingers in his shakiness. "Kyle-"

"Can you get the scallions out of the fridge, please?" he interrupted, really _really_ not wanting to have this conversation.

The noirette stared at him for a moment before getting to his feet and heading to the fridge, taking out the requested green strands and placing them on the counter. He sat himself back down, watching Kyle seamlessly twisting and turning between counter and sink as he worked. "Ky, come on," he said gently, watching him drop his spuds into the water pot. "Dude, you know you can tell me what's wrong."

Kyle paused, looking at him and Stan nearly jolted back from a deadened, tired look in conflicted green eyes. "I don't know what's wrong," he admitted, dumping the rest of his potatoes in and heading back to grab his scallions. He washed them off silently, fingers lightly scrubbing residue from the stems.

"You know _part_ of it," Stan insisted. "C'mon, lemme help."

Kyle turned back from the sink, throwing his onions down onto his cutting board and staring at them blankly. "It's Craig," he admitted quietly.

Stan cocked his head, "What about him?"

"Something about him is just...making me really uncomfortable," he said, grabbing his knife again and staring at it dully. "Just the way he looks at me is so off-putting."

Stan leaned his cheek into his palm, watching his best friend carefully. "Uncomfortable how?" he pressed.

Kyle shrugged, "I can't explain it. I just have this bad feeling about him, like there's some kind of tension between us."

"Like when we were in high school?" he questioned.

"Worse," he whispered. "Back then I thought it was just me being jealous that Kenny was spending time with him...Now I just...can't _stand_ the thought of being alone with him, you know?"

The noirette looked him up and down, seeing his hands shaking again. "You're scared of him," he observed quietly.

Green eyes shot back up and a jolt of anger flew through them. "I'm _not scared_ ," he insisted harshly.

Stan blinked at his reaction, a small smirk crawling up his lips, "Kenny said the same thing, didn't he?"

"I'm not scared!" he repeated. "I'm just...tense, that's all," he sighed tiredly. "You agreed that he was weird in high school," he gestured to him.

Stan nodded, "Yeah, but he seems to have evened out over the years."

Kyle looked at him skeptically, "He has? Because he just seems to get worse with me." He shook his head, looking down and starting to mince his scallions exhaustedly. "There's something wrong with me," he murmured.

His face fell, "Dude, there's nothing wrong with you. You're allowed to not feel comfortable around someone."

"But why am I comfortable with someone like Fatass, but Craig sends me into a fucking panic?" he questioned sharply, looking up at him, flinching as Stan grabbed his chopping hand.

Stan blinked at his snap, "Don't look away and cut, Kyle," he advised. "Your hand's fucked up enough."

The redhead's shoulders dropped and he sniffled quietly to himself, looking back at his mutilated plant. "I _have_ to fix this," he said softly. "Maybe I just need to...take the plunge, ya know?" he winced.

"Take the plunge," he repeated confusedly.

Kyle nodded briskly, "You know, _force_ myself to interact with him. Maybe more exposure will calm me down or something."

Stan watched him carefully as he pushed his finished onions aside and made way to stir his boiling potatoes. "Ky, I dunno if that's a good idea."

"Whaddya mean?" he looked back at him.

"I _mean_ you're obviously really uneasy with him," he shrugged. "You might go into a nervous breakdown before you're comfortable at the rate you're going."

"I'm _fine_ ," he insisted, walking back over and staring firmly at him from across the island.

He sighed tiredly, knowing with any fight that Kyle was stubborn as they came, but this one just seemed fruitless for him to continue. "Maybe it's not worth it," he winced.

Kyle frowned, "He's Kenny's best friend," he said quietly. "I can't bar his best friend from being involved in his life."

" _You're_ Kenny's best-"

"That doesn't count," he snapped. "What if Ken was this uncomfortable with _you_?" he gestured. "Like, okay, let's say hypothetically that Ken and I decide to get married- Stan, stop laughing!" he hissed at Stan beginning to snort.

"Yeah, you get Kenny McCormick to settle down and then the world ends, then what?" he teased.

He reached over and smacked the back of the boy's head. "He's been committed for this fucking long, I _don't_ think it's that impossible, you dick!" Stan continued chuckling, but waved him. Kyle sighed irritably, "Okay, Ken's best man would come down to either Fatass or Tucker. I can't tell him 'no, you _can't_ have him as your best man' or whatever. That's not fair to him," he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "And it applies to _everything_. If he wants Craig to come over and watch football, it's not fair of me to tell him no. I just _don't_ wanna be that person, Stan."

Stan crossed his arms, his smile fading, "But, I'm willing to bet that Ken already told you it was fine."

"What if he's just doing that to prevent a fight?" he winced.

"Ken's as stubborn of a dickhead as you are," he reminded him. "If it really bothered him that much, he wouldn't bend so easily. You know that he cares more about you than his damn friendship with that bland asshole, Dude."

Kyle's shoulders fell and he looked off to the side of the kitchen, eyes focusing on the linoleum. He had a point. Kyle sighed and shook his head. "But I don't want to make things hard on him, Stan," he murmured. "It's not fair for him to rearrange plans all the time so I don't have to be in contact with Craig. I just need to drop my fucking balls and deal with it."

Stan nodded slowly, "I don't think it's a good idea, but if Ken wants to hang out with Craig here or whatever, just ring me up. I'll keep you away from him."

Kyle smiled softly, "Thanks," he whispered. He lied his head on top of his arms and sighed again. "I hope this is just some weird phase."

"Maybe you're hitting menopause," he teased, laughing as Kyle flipped him off and patting his curls. "Ky, you'll be fine," he promised him. "Just keep your distance and your head up. I'm sure Craig's just being his normal dick self and it just seems unnaturally dickish to you."

Kyle looked up at him, Stan noting once more the deadened glaze in his eyes. "But, like I said, why can I tolerate Cartman but not him?" he questioned quietly.

"Cartman gives you something to attack back with," he shrugged. "You don't know _how_ to fight against quiet. You're better at just screaming at things that yell back," he snorted.

Kyle chuckled softly, "True." He nodded to himself, leaning back up and cracking his knuckles mindlessly. "You should probably tell Wends to come over," he advised. Stan nodded, giving him his trademarked Super Best Friend reassuring smile before heading to the living room to call her. Kyle watched after him, looking back at his boiling potatoes, watching the steam rising towards the ceiling with hazy eyes. This was all just a matter of willpower and working through the problem. These were areas where Kyle excelled at, he knew it. He bit his lip, a wave of weak confidence washing through him like a tepid tide. It was all just a matter of finding his angle, and everything would be just fine once again.


	6. Chapter 6

Sitting away typing at his desk was nothing short of pure zen for the frazzled redhead. Every ounce of his worries could dissipate with the consistent _clack clack clack_ ringing through his space. He leaned back a bit in his chair, letting his eyes drift from the spreadsheet on his screen to the hastily scribbled numerics splashed across his data sheet beside him. Complexities of his social life could be brushed aside so long as he had a stream of numbers rushing through him to keep his mind in a steady line. He rolled his shoulders tiredly, gaze hitting the clock for a moment. 2:30. Still two and a half hours to go. Good.

"Kyle, you _-shit!-_ done with that report yet?" a voice popped from the opening of his cubicle wall. He looked over and blinked at his co-worker staring at him in interest.

"Not yet, Thomas," he murmured tiredly. "Probably another ten minutes, processing fucked up another order," he waved around his data tiredly.

Thomas rolled his eyes, "What a shock. I _-cock!-_ mean, they're always fucking up."

Kyle snorted and nodded. "I'll get it to you as soon as I can, Dude."

"Thanks, Broflovski," he grinned, turning on his heel and walking away. Kyle's body twitched at the title, mind spinning back to Craig and making him shift uncomfortably.

"Goddammit, not here," he whined under his breath. This was his _escape_. Work life and home life were supposed to be separated, right? Who was he kidding, that never worked for _anyone_ and it wasn't about to start with him. He sighed irritably, trying to put his focus back onto the mess of a ledger he was dealing with, pausing as a vibration started from beside him. He glanced to see his phone sliding across the desktop, a bright label of 'Kenny' plastered across the screen. He couldn't help but smile softly as he reached over to grab it.

"Hey, Ken," he said, holding the device between his ear and shoulder as he continued to type away.

" _Hey, Babe. Question."_

"Answer," he retorted, smirking at Kenny's scoff.

He cleared his throat, _"You up for entertainin' Saturday night?"_

Kyle's smile dropped a bit. "Again? Isn't football season over yet?"

Kenny chuckled, _"Not for about three months, Ky."_ The redhead grunted in response, starting another column on his spreadsheet as his boyfriend continued. _"So, you remember Kevin?"_

Kyle looked up, "Stoley?"

" _Yeah. He's havin' a kid."_

Kyle snorted, "Your idea of entertaining isn't trying to get me pregnant, is it?"

Kenny burst out into laughter, _"You kidding? I love me some kiddos, but if I get you preggo you won't let me touch you for nine months, and that shit ain't gonna fly."_ Kyle chuckled and shook his head amusedly. _"But he needs a dudes' night before he's tied down to his girlfriend and their spawn. Figured we'd call some of the guys over and just have beer and dinner and shit."_

Kyle took a deep breath, "I don't have to do all the work, do I?"

" _Nah, Babe, I'll help ya. I promise. Then you can suffer through the dishes with me_ ," Kyle could just _see_ the cheeky grin no doubt plastered all over Kenny's face. _"We'll just make pizza or somethin' easy,"_ he assured him.

Kyle nodded slowly, "Yeah, that's fine. Who are you wanting to invite?"

A moment of silence passed before Kenny cleared his throat, _"Everyone but him, Ky."_

The redhead bit his lip, remembering what he'd told Stan just the day before. He glanced at the time on his clock again and took a steadying breath. "Invite Craig, too," he said quietly, closing his eyes.

" _Ky, I ain't gonna make you-"_

"Kenny, I have to get through this and I can't if I hide from him," he said firmly. "I'll have Stan there if it gets to be too much for me and he'll make an excuse to get me out."

Another pause broke through and Kyle could hear Kenny muttering under his breath and sighing. _"I don't wanna make you uncomfortable in your own house, Kyle."_

"I'll be fine," he promised, eyes lazily scanning over his document. "I'm a big boy, Kenny. I can handle a few hours, okay? Besides, it's your house, too. You have every right to have whoever you want over," he said softly.

Kenny groaned quietly, the redhead hearing him shaking his head against his phone. _"All right. But the second you change your mind, I'll tell him not to show up, all right?"_

Kyle nodded a bit to himself, "That's fine, Ken. I promise though, everything will be just fine."

" _All right. Gotta get back to work. Love you."_

"Love you, too," he said softly, pulling his phone down and hanging it up, staring at the device in his hand and taking a deep, needed breath. This was fine. Everything about this was just fine. He would be in his own house, surrounded by people who could keep Craig's attention away from him. He'd have Kenny and Stan with him and everything would be _fine_. He shook his head, putting his phone back onto his desk and glancing between his paper and computer screen, the glare gleaming lightly in his cautious gaze.

He dropped his sight, putting his head into his hands and raking his fingers through his hair. He promised himself he'd make the effort, and the opportunity was staring him right in the face. He'd just have to figure this out. Find out Craig's interests, make a casual conversation. Kyle could easily do that, he was a social chameleon when he had to be. And no situation seemed to call for it more than this one. Another glance at the clock showed it was 2:38. Two hours and 22 minutes to go. Thank God.

* * *

Craig watched disinterestedly from his office at customers passing by his window, looking down at an inventory report and lazily scanning over it. Everything seemed to be in place, the new supply that he'd ordered in all seemed to be here. He smiled to himself, getting to his feet and stretching tiredly, blue polo riding up his stomach just a bit.

He walked out of the office, ignoring patrons as he passed them by, not giving two shits about the greeting policy for the moment. That's what the lower-rung workers were for anyway.

"Can you help me?" a voice directed at him asked softly.

He turned to see an elderly woman with a small King Charles Spaniel held in her hands. He nodded to her curtly, looking at the dog and giving it a smile. "What do you need?"

"My vet told me to give Francis a dry food made with rice and I can't tell what's what," she explained.

Craig stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Who the _fuck_ names a dog Francis? He waved her to follow after him, slowing his walk for her and her cart to catch up to his speed. He led her down into the dog food aisle towards the specialty foods. "I'm guessing his ears kept getting infected?" he asked casually.

She nodded with a pout. "He used to eat the corn food but these last few months it's been giving him problems. He ate that brand," she pointed to a bright blue bag.

Craig nodded in understanding. "Was it chicken, lamb, what?"

She looked up in thought, "Chicken, I believe."

"Right," he muttered, unimpressed with her uncertainty in the matter. He sighed, grabbing a chicken and rice blend, holding it up for her to see the label clearly marked 'rice'. "Mix this into what's left of his old food and slowly increase how much the ratio changes meal to meal," he instructed. "Otherwise his stomach won't handle it well."

She smiled and nodded, grasping the bag in her free hand and jostling the dog a bit. "Say thank you to the nice young man, Francis." Craig watched the dog's bulging eyes staring at him blankly before the dog snapped its jaws towards his hand still too close to his master for his tastes. "Francis! Bad!" she scolded. She looked at Craig apologetically. "I'm sorry, Honey."

He shrugged, "Never had an issue with biters," he said. "Have a...day," he muttered, turning on his heel, hearing the dog yapping a few times and rolling his eyes. He sped through to the back of the store, avoiding other patrons like the plague. He finally found himself in the warehouse and sighed tiredly as he stepped through the massive swinging doors. He glanced around, finding Butters halfway into a crate and raising his brow. "The fuck are you doing, Stotch?"

A blonde head popped out of the box and he waved with a smile, "Hey there, Craig! Just tryin' t' get this order out, is all."

"Hm," he nodded curtly. "That the one that came in today?" he asked, walking towards him.

He nodded briskly, "Yes, Sir! The delivery man was _awful_ nice. Why, he even helped me get the pallet in!" he beamed.

Craig rolled his eyes, "He does that with everyone, Stotch. Out of the way," he waved him back. Butters pouted but did as told, watching his superior as he bent down into the box, taking out various items and setting them to the side. Butter's hazel eyes watched curiously as a large cage came out of the tote in its box, followed by a slew of other smaller items. He bent down, grabbing a plastic case with a large link collar.

"Well, w-what's a 'Fur Saver'?" he asked, glancing through the back of the package, looking at the beautifully glistened emerald chain sparkling in the florescent lights above them.

"A collar for bigger dogs," Craig said simply, continuing to tear items out of the box, licking over his lips. "Not as rough as a plain choker chain and doesn't fuck up longer fur or skin since it's smoother."

"Ah," he nodded, grabbing another one tumbling out of Craig's hand. "We only get two of 'em? Doesn't seem like a big order."

Craig rolled his eyes, "It's a specialty one for me," he said. He tossed out a collar stake and they both winced as the heavy metal slammed into the concrete. "Grab me a cart, will ya?" he asked.

Butters nodded, gently setting the collars back on the ground and hurrying back over to him with a bright blue plastic cart. He watched Craig loading the massive crate into the holder with little effort, mouth hanging open a bit. "You get yourself a dog?" he asked excitedly.

Craig nodded, "Getting a Collie."

The blonde clapped his hands excitedly, "Oh boy! Collies sure are swell. You gonna have it herd?"

"Doubt it," he muttered, tossing his collars and stake into the cart. A large dog bed followed suit and a couple of blue and green fleece blankets with pawprints scattered about the material.

"Wow, this dog's gonna live like a king," Butters beamed, touching the soft, plush material of the dog bed.

Craig shrugged, "Only the best for my animals," he said flatly. He glanced at his watch and grinned. 3:00. Shift was finally over. "Ring me out, will ya?" he asked.

Butters nodded excitedly, leading the way as Craig tore off his nametag and shoved it into his pocket. He glanced at customers lingering about, staring at their collection of lizards and poking at the glass. He sneered. These damn people just had no respect.

The both of them made it to the register, Butters quickly entering his number and starting to get to work on ringing him out. "Gimme four tokens for the tag machine," Craig directed. Butters nodded, grabbing them from under his counter and handing the shining silver coins to the man.

"Two tags?" he questioned.

Craig nodded. "Add 'em on and just keep ringing me up while I get these done," he said aimlessly, stepping the ten feet over to the machine and slamming two of the tokens in. He glanced over his options, selecting a purple heart design and typing 'L-I-L-A' into the keypad. He watched as the engraving began, shooting his eyes over to Butters still happily scanning away. "Throw on a couple of those rawhides," he called over, jerking his head back a bit towards the treat section. "The larger ones."

"Okay!" he said brightly, hurrying over towards the area and scouting out what he would declare as the two 'best lookin'' bones for Craig's Collie. The noirette rolled his eyes at Butter's enthusiasm, but knew it helped him in the long run. His damn unbreakable attitude was the only thing that got his store high customer service marks, after all.

He licked his lips as Lila's tag dropped into the slot and he snagged it out, shoving it in his pocket. He pushed in his other two tokens, once more scanning over his design choices. His face broke into a grin at a neon orange bone design, hurriedly selecting it. He looked back, seeing Butters scratching his head, still trying to figure out just which bones would make a dog the happiest. Craig could barely control his excited shaking as he slowly, purposefully typed in 'K-Y-L-E'.


	7. Chapter 7

Kenny watched the trees flying by as he nonchalantly leaned his cheek into his palm rested against his window. He took a long breath, biting his lip just a tad. He was fucking tired as shit, Thursdays always just seemed to kill him for some reason. Kyle told him it was because it was so close to the weekend, but still further than an arm's distance away, and the blonde was inclined to agree. He sighed, glancing up at the stretch of a long hill, seeing a small eggshell house sitting atop the incline. He licked his lips, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. His adrenaline seemed to be pumping, flashes of Kyle's worried face and voice popping into his mind. He shook his head briskly, plastering a frown on his face. This needed done and it needed done _correctly._ Kyle was right, this could easily turn everything against him more if Kenny didn't play his cards right.

He got his truck up to the top of the incline, shutting it off and hopping out onto the dirt driveway. Kenny grabbed his phone from the dashboard holder, shutting off his GPS and finding Kyle's name, quickly texting, _'Gonna b a half hour or so late. Shit's backed up.'_

A few moments passed before, typical of Kyle, his phone buzzed right away in response. _'Didn't realize you were a plumber. I'll keep dinner warm.'_

Kenny snorted and rolled his eyes, hurriedly typing back, _'Ur so fucking funny ur lucky ur ass is so fine.'_

' _:) '_

The blonde shook his head and laughed, shoving the phone down into his pocket. He heard barking from behind the house, looking up and raising his brow as he began briskly stepping out to the side of the abode to take a glance. He cocked his head finding Craig with a gorgeously colored Collie, red and gold fur glistening atop white. He observed Craig throwing a stick and watching the dog chase after it excitedly.

"Hey," he said softly.

Craig whipped around and raised his brow. "Whaddya want?"

Kenny scoffed, "Good to see you, too, Bud."

The noirette rolled his eyes. "Can I help you?" he asked cooly, watching with a frown as Lila ran past him and up to Kenny, hopping up and placing her paws on his shoulders.

The blonde laughed, petting her soft head. "Well, just who are _you_?" he cooed, grinning as Lila licked his cheek.

Craig growled to himself, "That's Lila," he managed to work out in a flat tone. "Just picked her up a few hours ago."

"Aww, didn't know you were a dog lover," he grinned, dropping down to his knees and scratching the dog's ears as Lila's tail moved excitedly.

"It's nice to have animals that can be trained," he raised his brow, watching the boy cooing at his dog.

Kenny paused, looking at Lila's collar, a thin leather band nearly buried in her fur. "Wow, leather," he nodded. "Fancy fancy doggie, aren't we?" he smiled.

"Well I wasn't about to put a chain collar around her neck and hurt her," he scoffed. "Why are you here?" he demanded. Kenny looked back up and his smile dropped. He cleared his throat and watched as Craig snapped his fingers down by his thigh, Lila hurrying back over and sitting at his side. "Good girl," he murmured, petting her head and letting her lean against his leg. She stared at Kenny, chocolate coated eyes still dancing in the excitement of her day and her freedom from the kennel.

The blonde stuck his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath, looking to see Craig staring at him straight on, noting a particular difference in eye tone than he'd seen directed at Kyle through the diner window. "I need to ask you something," he finally said.

"And that would be?" he raised his brow, scratching behind Lila's ear.

He shuffled his feet a bit, "Do you...What do you think of Kyle?" he winced.

Craig blinked, keeping his stoic face on. "He's annoying."

"Well, everyone seems to think that," he rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to go knock Craig's lights out right then and there. "But do you hate him or anything?"

"No more than anyone else," he shrugged. "Why?"

Kenny bit his lip a bit, thumb stroking over the phone in his pocket. "He thinks you do," he said quietly. Craig stared at him in silence for a few moments, Kenny feeling incredibly awkward, wondering if he just laid out the warpath for Craig to attack his boyfriend for his accusations. He knew Craig well enough. He was fairly even-tempered, but he could be absolutely vicious if backed into a corner.

"Why?" Craig finally asked again, emotion unwavering as he took in Kenny's worried posture.

"You just...talk weird to him," he shrugged, taking one hand out of its holder and running it through his hair. He winced at the smell of grease still lingering on his fingertips, counting his lucky stars he caught it before he'd touched Kyle. The redhead would have a hissy fit if he made him smell like the shop. "He said that you asked him if he was 'earning his keep' with his job and...He just feels like you think he's not...a person so much," he shrugged.

Craig took a deep, even breath, still stroking Lila's soft head. "With living shit, animals are the only things that aren't people," he said plainly. "That's where my line is drawn."

Kenny narrowed his eyes confusedly, "Well...yeah?" he raised his brow. "That's _everyone's_ line. I'm asking you what you think of Ky."

"I just told you," he shrugged casually, reaching down and grabbing Lila's stick, tossing it back into the open pasture, the both of them watching her bounding after it.

Kenny looked at Craig in bewilderment, wondering where the fuck this came from. It was still blunt, but so _vague_. Completely different from the Craig he _thought_ he knew. He was beginning to lose his patience, his protective streak starting to flare. "Craig, fucking yes or no. Do you hate Kyle?" he demanded.

Grey eyes flickered up to him with something unrecognizable to the blonde. It certainly wasn't hate, but he couldn't exactly place _what_ it was. "No. I don't," he said blandly. He looked down as the Collie came bounding back, holding his hand down and watching her drop the stick into his waiting palm. "Good girl," he murmured, tossing it again.

Ken took a long breath, not exactly liking his attitude over the matter, but knowing well enough that Craig was never one for a sunny disposition. "Craig, you're my friend," he said softly.

"Yeah?" he looked back at him with a bored expression.

The blonde bit his lip. "But I _love_ Kyle."

"I'm _more_ than aware by the way you two tend to tongue fuck any chance you get," he rolled his eyes. Kenny bristled a bit, knowing well enough he couldn't exactly _dispute_ that, but not enjoying his tone in the slightest. "What's your point?"

"My point," he started through gritted teeth before taking a deep breath and forcing himself to calm down. "My point," he said again in a gentler tone, "Is that between the two of you, he comes first. So if you have a problem with him, you _need_ to tell me because I'm not going to deal with prying the two of you off each other once one of you finally boils over," he said firmly.

Craig stared at him blankly, chest twisting a bit at the insinuation. His choice was to either suck up a bit or lose his chance at getting closer to the redhead. He let out a long breath through his nose. The only viable option was clearly obvious. "Sorry," he muttered, eye twitching subtly at the word. "I don't hate Broflovski. I don't treat him any different from anyone else."

"You kinda do," he narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "Maybe you don't notice it, but I do. You talk down to him a _lot_ ," he emphasized. "Can you just...I dunno, lighten up on him a little?" he winced.

Craig scoffed, "Do you have this same talk with Fatass?"

Kenny glared, "Cartman is on a plane of annoyance all his own. Kyle knows how to handle his bullshit, but he's afraid to fight against _you_ because you're _my_ friend."

"What, he afraid he'll hurt your feelings?" he asked casually.

"Yes. Actually," he spat. "Contrary to popular belief, he gives a fuck about other people in ways that don't only benefit _him_ , Asstard."

He shrugged, "I was only asking a question, McCormick, calm down." Kenny took a deep breath, looking down at Lila's beaming face and shaking his head a bit. He couldn't seem to _get_ himself to calm down. He just felt so overly defensive. He knew he really should be more torn between the two of them, but he could only find himself siding with Kyle, especially the more he talked to the noirette. Craig watched him cautiously, biting the inside of his cheek. "Fine. I'll be nicer," he muttered.

Bright blue eyes flickered up to meet his, a hopeful, but skeptical glaze about them. "Really?"

He shrugged again. "May as well. You being pissy is annoying and I don't want to deal with Broflovski whining all the time to you about me," he rolled his eyes. Kenny stared at him for a bit, nodding softly. He knew Craig well enough to know that was about as much as he was ever going to get by means of a promise to improve himself. Honestly, it was more than he'd ever gotten, and a part of him couldn't help but be thankful. However, he knew Craig had a tendency to half-ass every apology he ever mustered, so his hopes weren't all that high that he'd actually make amends with his boyfriend.

He sighed to himself. "Just... _try_ ," he pleaded. "Kyle really wants to get along with you for my sake."

Craig waved him off dismissively. "I said _fine_ ," he bit. "I'll take care of him."

Kenny smiled in relief, Craig feeling a proud swelling in his stomach, forcing himself to keep his lips in a flat line. Seems Kenny _approved_.

"Thanks," Kenny said earnestly. "Seriously, it means a lot to me, Dude."

"Don't get all sappy on me or your ass is never allowed back here again," Craig scoffed.

Kenny chuckled lightly, running his fingers through his hair. "Sorry. Look, we're having a little get together at our house Saturday for Kevin."

"Why?" he cocked his brow.

He shrugged casually, "Because he knocked up some bitch and won't be allowed to drink once it bursts through her vag. You wanna come?"

Craig nodded softly, "I guess. Better than hanging out here I suppose," he gestured to his house.

Kenny chuckled a bit, "Well, at least you have the pets," he grinned crookedly. "Better than being all alone, right?"

"Right."

Ken smirked and nodded again, "All righty then. Well, we'll see ya then. Starts at seven," he said. "Gotta get home, Kyle made dinner already."

"What're you having?" he asked dully.

The blonde shrugged, "I dunno. It's always a surprise," he snorted. "Little bastard loves to make me happy with food," he rolled his eyes amusedly. "I'll see ya later. Bye, Lila," he waved to the dog who wagged her tail excitedly, fidgeting and wanting to jump on him again. She settled a bit as Craig put a firm hand atop her head.

"Bye," Craig said curtly, watching him walking back around the front side of the house. He breathed quietly, listening for Kenny's truck to start back up and ripping his phone out of his pocket. He found the stopwatch application and listened for the tires to start moving, quickly turning the function on. He stepped to the side of the house, watching Kenny hurriedly pivoting the truck and heading down the steep hill. Craig stood in silence with Lila, watching as the vehicle traveled downwards the good half a mile of land. He tongued over his lips, hitting stop as soon as Kenny's truck was out of sight under the tree canopy.

One minute and twenty seven seconds.

He nodded to himself, pushing the phone back into his jeans and heading over to his barn, quickly undoing the latches and locks once more, undoing a new, heavy duty padlock he'd procured from the hardware store before picking up Lila. He swung open the hefty door, watching the dog bound in excitedly. He licked his lips, walking over to a large, wooden support beam in the middle of the cement floor. He looked down at the massive crate already set up so nicely, his paw print blankets tucked onto the plastic bottom for optimal comfort.

He walked up to the small eye bolt lodged into the beam at about knee-height, leaning down and putting his pinky into the hole, pulling against it and smirking at the lack of budge. It'd cost him sixty dollars, but it was grounded so far into the structure that it wasn't going to move a millimeter. He glanced down to see Lila staring at the cage expectantly and he shook his head. "No, no, Lila. Come on, you stay in the house," he waved her along, leading her outside once again. He closed the barn door and guided her up to the homestead. He let her dart in through the kitchen door, watching her with a smile and clicking his tongue, urging her to follow him into the living room. He tapped the large bed with his foot, watching her amusedly as she excitedly hopped onto the plush cushion, sniffing and twisting around in it before plopping down. Her entire body pulsed as she panted happily, watching as Craig sat next to her in his chair, his hand lazily leaning over the side to pet through her fur.

He sighed contentedly, looking out the living room window and grinning at the view of the bottom of the hill cresting down below. He nodded to himself slowly. This was all going to work out just _fine_. He had his in, all he had to do was earn the trust.


	8. Chapter 8

Kenny creaked his eyes open into the daylight, groaning quietly to himself as he shifted under the comforter. He shot his gaze towards the window, frowning at the sparse snowflakes peppering the ground. He was more than used to snow but that damn well didn't mean he had to _enjoy_ it.

He turned over, seeing Kyle gently snoring away, fingers clutched around his pillow. He smiled fondly, staring at the flyaway curls mussed from his boyfriend's tossing-and-turning induced slumber. The smile faded a bit at a worried, crinkled brow prominently displayed on Kyle's forehead. The redhead's clenched fingers twitched lightly, shoulders rolling in tautly.

Another bad dream. He'd been doing this for nearly a week now.

Kenny frowned, scooting closer to him and planting his lips softly against his own. Kyle whimpered in faint recognition as the blonde's mouth traced over his cheek and up to his ear. He pecked lightly underneath the lobe, flicking his tongue out and tasting the morning sensation of honeyed spice that was inherently Kyle.

Green eyes fluttered as the boy tried to place a face to the lips, his own mouth fumbling for groggy words. "K-Ken?" he asked hopefully in a whisper.

"Mhmm," he replied, "Just me, Babe." Kyle shuddered at the raspy voice still full of sleep grating out of Kenny's throat. Recognizable only to him; _crafted_ just for his listening pleasure.

He moaned softly, the worries of his sleep disappearing with Kenny's precise tongue tracings and fingers sliding under the covers and heading down to play with the band of Kyle's pajama pants. He leaned his head further into his pillow, giving him more access and letting his burning eyes slip closed again, relishing in the loving touches. "Mornin' to you, too," he chuckled. He felt Kenny's hands grab his hips and roll him down onto his back, creaking his eyes back open to see a goofy grin hovering over him. He smirked, leaning up and kissing him tiredly. "Someone's in a good mood," he commented softly as his head fell listlessly back onto his pillow.

"Well, yeah, it's Saturday," he scoffed. "No work and all play makes Kenny and Kyle two very happy boys," he waggled his brows.

Kyle snorted, hand coming up to lazily grip at Kenny's bared upper arm, stroking the muscle with his thumb. "Can't play _all_ day," he reminded him with a stifled yawn. " _Someone_ has to help me make dinner."

He smirked, pecking his nose. "Well, that won't be for another, what, eight hours?" he purred.

"Seven if you want the pizza actually cooked," he corrected, smiling as Kenny flicked his cheek a bit.

"Well, I suggest we spend those seven hours in the best way we know how."

Kyle rolled his eyes amusedly, "You mean you watching TV and me reading?" he teased.

"I'd _much_ rather watch something else," he cooed, leaning down and catching those tempting lips. Kyle moaned, cupping around the back of Kenny's neck, fingers tousling lightly with the matted down hair cusping the back of his head. Their tongues danced fluidly around one another's, too distracted to complain that the other hadn't brushed their teeth yet as all focus went into one another's hands. One of Kenny's blindly fumbled to the nightstand beside Kyle's side of the bed, ripping it open and aimlessly wiggling his fingers about until they landed on a smooth plastic bottle. He grinned against Kyle's eager kisses, knowing well enough that he'd managed to rid the redhead of his night woes and got him into a puddle in no time flat. Only he knew how to do it, and he would be damned if he didn't extort his talents.

Kyle threw the comforter off of Kenny's back to the other side of the bed, both of them giving but a momentary shudder at the cold, the other's body heat staving them through. They weren't stupid, it didn't matter how damn cold it was, not seeing each other was just simply not an option. Kenny moved his mouth down to the side of Kyle's throat, suckling the sweet skin as he moved to quickly tear the redhead's pajamas down his legs. Kyle lifted his hips to help him, kicking the pants off the rest of the way and letting Kenny rip his shirt off, throwing it down beside the bed. Kyle groaned, hurriedly tugging at the blonde's own shirt. Kenny smirked self-righteously, rolling his shoulders and letting the fabric slide up his spine and be torn off impatiently by the small redhead.

He felt Kyle's fingers tracing down to his waistband, shuddering as they brushed over his growing bulge. He shook his head, a wild grin plastered on his face. "Uh uh uhhhh," he teased, moving his hips back out of Kyle's reach. Green eyes flickered up to him in frustration and he grinned slyly. "You'll get that when you _earn it_."

"Bitch, I fucking agreed to date you, I say that's _plenty_ enough to earn your fucking dick," he pouted.

Kenny snorted and shook his head, leaning down and planting a kiss on Kyle's chest, sliding a fluid tongue up a nipple hardened from the cold and arousal. "You have to let me have _my_ fun first," he purred.

"What, fucking me ain't fun for you anymore?" he scoffed. "Guess I'll go find someone else if it's such a hass-" he stopped with a hand slapped over his mouth, looking down with playful eyes to see Kenny giving a half-attempt at a scowl.

"Not funny, Kyle," he said sharply.

He shook the boy's palm off and grinned, blinking innocently, " _I_ thought it was hilarious."

"Hm," he quirked his brow, popping open the lid of the lube in his hand and slowly drizzling it over his fingers. He watched Kyle's eyes darkening with eagerness and grinned. "You know what _I_ find hilarious?" he cooed, rubbing the substance between his fingers to let it heat.

"Anything with the word penis?"

He snorted and shook his head. "Well, I mean, it _involves one_ ," he winked. Kyle frowned, a warning to tread lightly with his next words. Kenny slowly dragged his moistened fingers down Kyle's hip bone, watching him arch up impatiently with a shudder. "I think it's just so _funny_ how cool your head is...until I do this," he purred, quickly jolting a finger inside of him. He watched Kyle yelping at the suddenness, eyes blinking rapidly as he groaned. Kenny slid his finger slowly in and out, crooking it just so he'd barely exert pressure where Kyle wanted as he slid down, pushing Kyle's legs out and settling between them.

"Ugh, fuck, Ken, c'mon!" he groaned, pressing his hips down a bit and whining.

"Whaddya want?" he sang.

"More, you fuck!" he hissed. Kenny snorted.

"Say the magic word," he winked.

Kyle frowned viciously. " _ **Please**_ before I bash your skull in!" Kenny chuckled, letting it slide and pushing in another finger, watching Kyle moan happily, leaning his head back and relishing in the feeling of Kenny's callused touch. His hands came up, clutching the pillow under his head and arching up a bit as Kenny bent his fingers, spreading them inside of him and playing in the familiar heat. "Shit," he breathed out, teeth scraping over his bottom lip.

Kyle arched up with a heated gasp as a wet tongue trailed along his standing cock. He whimpered as Kenny's mouth closed around him, breath catching in his chest. A practiced throat took him in, lashes batting against flushed cheeks as Kenny continued to work his magic on him. Blue eyes flickered up, watching Kyle with pride as the boy squirmed and moaned. He wrapped his tongue around the hot skin in his mouth time and again, loving the way that Kyle's thighs twitched around his head. He jerked his fingers a bit, getting a heady, loud moan that reverberated down the Jew's entire body.

Ken gave his own soft sound as one of Kyle's hands flew down, entangling in his hair, just needing to feel him and touch him, to have _some_ control on something. The slick sound of Kenny's throat and fingers echoed in the acoustics of their bedroom, drowned out easily by Kyle's incessantly vocal noises. A shudder of glee ran up Kenny's spine, loving how he could bring out so many sounds, get to hear the noises that only he could produce.

"Kenny...Kenny..." Kyle pleaded, eyes scrunched shut as his body tried to adjust to so many feelings as grogginess still fogged the back of his mind.

"Hmmm?" Kenny dragged out, the vibrations settling along Kyle's dick and making him groan, legs shaking violently.

"God, Ken...Fuck me," he begged, hips arching involuntarily into Kenny's hot, waiting mouth.

The blonde grinned, sliding smoothly up his cock, teasing the head with his tongue a bit. "I'm sorry, what was that?" he grinned smugly.

"Fuck meeee," he whined, tugging Kenny's hair impatiently.

Ken leaned over him, smirking as Kyle fought through the feelings of his fingers to get Kenny's pajamas shoved down around his knees. "So needy," he teased, pecking him lightly. Kyle lunged up and took his mouth, dragging him down and delving his tongue in past his teeth. Kenny moaned, feeling Kyle's hands fumbling around the mattress until he found the lube bottle, quickly dousing his hand and awkwardly reaching between them. He wrapped his slicked hand around Kenny's cock brushing over his pelvic line, feeling the boy shudder at the grip. His eyes nearly rolled back at the feeling of the skin in his hand and the fingers still violating him so _perfectly_.

Kenny broke off his mouth for a breath, immediately redirecting for his cheek and ear to kiss and suckle. Kyle turned his head for him, breathing out contentedly and rocking his hips up against Kenny's dick. "One more time," Kenny's breath washed over his neck.

"Please fuck me," he whispered desperately. He felt Kenny bringing his cock out of his grip and tearing his fingers out, feeling disgustingly empty at the loss. They both wiped their coated hands on the sheets before automatically going to clutch at each other again. Kenny's hand slid down Kyle's hip, cupping his ass and lifting him a bit, pulling the skin as he agonizingly went to guide his cock over Kyle's hole. The redhead gulped, trembling in anticipation, their eyes locking as Kenny crested the muscled ring.

Kyle hissed, reaching up to grab at Kenny's shoulders, nails digging into the skin almost irritably. Kenny watched him carefully, waiting to see if the gentle push against his arms would come, telling him silently to give him a second to adjust. He continued working himself slowly down into the waiting body, Kyle's eyes scrunched shut and all focus directed to the heat edging inside of him. His teeth grated against his lip almost angrily, forcing his muscles to calm down, telling them that they should be _more_ than used to this by now.

He felt Kenny's sac press against his ass and let out a long, shaky breath. Kenny winced, waiting patiently as Kyle's body spasmed around him, trying to find itself a comfortable place. His fingers dug into his shoulders twice and Kenny took his signal, slowly beginning to back up before pressing all the way back inside of the redhead. Kyle groaned at his muscle forming around Kenny's cock, making him a _part_ of his skin. He scratched the back of his neck frantically, Ken keeping his pace as he bent down further, giving him a wet, sloppy kiss. "Fuck," Kyle whimpered, feeling the smug grin plastered against his lips. He didn't _care_. Kenny knew just what he needed and never failed to deliver.

One of Kenny's arms went under Kyle's back, lifting him up a bit more to find himself a better angle. Kyle moaned as he found his target in the propped state, dropping his arms from the blonde's shoulders to press against the bed and help keep his weight where Kenny wanted it. "Good boy," Kenny praised breathlessly. Kyle rolled his eyes, refusing to acknowledge the tingle in his stomach from the husky phrase. His fingers dug into the mattress, Kenny's pace increasing and whining at the overwhelming feeling pulsing inside of him.

Early morning sensitivity wasn't doing either of them any favors, the both of them nearly cursing at themselves building to the end so quickly. Kenny's free hand rapidly tapped Kyle's left fingers and Kyle gulped, reaching between them and grasping his own skin, mouth falling open a bit and Kenny kissing his chin. "C'mon," he growled, nipping at the flesh. "You know you wanna," he teased.

Kyle gritted his teeth, bucking his hips against Kenny's rhythm and clenching around him, making the blonde let out a strangled gasp. His fingers delved deeper into Kyle's skin, nails leaving stark red indentations against the pale canvas of flesh. The sound of his hips slapping against Kyle's ass filled the room, accompanied by a joyous harmony of Kyle's moans and both of them panting heavily. "Fuck, Ken," Kyle shuddered, eyes flashing open to lock in baby blues watching him carefully. He felt lost in the endless ocean that was his eyes, swept out to sea and forever drowning in the pure essence that was Kenny. His hand tightened around himself, pace picking up as the waves tossed him about, a mere tugboat against his impending power; So much strength to bring him down all at once or smoothly guide him along his voyage.

Another searing, bone-melting kiss was all it took for Kyle's body to completely lose itself in the tide, crying out into Kenny's mouth as his hips arched up, cum splashing against their hips and stomachs. Kenny cursed, riding out Kyle's muscle spasms before ripping out of him and grabbing around himself. Moaning out his name brokenly as he came over Kyle's hip bone, the fluid cascading down his narrow waistline onto the sheets. They both gradually let go of their cocks, hands redirecting into each other's hair to hold closely as they kissed, mouths refusing to relinquish from one another.

Kenny finally, albeit unwillingly, pulled back from his lips with a gentle smack, the both of their chests heaving against one another's, eyes locked. A smile curled up both their lips as fingers continued to twiddle with blonde and red locks alike. "Talk about a good morning, huh?" Kenny grinned.

Kyle snorted, "Good morning," he agreed with a nod. He lightly stroked his thumb along Kenny's temple and sighed tiredly. "You realize I have to do sheets today now, right?" he cocked his brow.

"Hm, better wait until tonight," he purred, kissing his nose. "Otherwise you'll just hafta wash 'em again and again."

Kyle stared at him before breaking into a mischievous smirk. "Oooorrrr this is our one romp in the bed and we proceed to violate every _other_ piece of furniture in the house," he batted his lashes enticingly.

Kenny broke into a wicked grin, cupping his chin and bringing their lips together once more, chuckling hungrily. "As you wish, my love."

* * *

When his father had first taught him how to use power tools, Craig had been more than apathetic. He didn't particularly _want_ to know how a drill or a soldering iron worked, far too convinced that there was a reason you could _hire_ someone for such tasks. However, as he held the welding torch tightly in his hand, the back part of him wanted to call and profusely thank the man. He set his humming welding machine a good ten feet from him in the barn and walked over towards his target.

He bent down beside his eye bolt, glancing up at the protective metal sheet he'd formed to block the wooden support beam. Craig nodded to himself, putting the torch down for a moment and grabbing a heavy chain, already carefully inspected for imperfections at the hardware store. He snagged an extra, slightly agape link and slipped it through the end of the chain. He quickly attached the link into his eye bolt and licked his lips, glancing at his amp reading its readiness. He nodded to himself, pulling down the sleeves of his sweatshirt and grasping his torch. He slammed his face mask down, watching through the plated plastic as he struck his arc, watching the torch spring to life in an array of sparks.

Carefully, he lifted the chain out of the way, holding it far off at an upwards angle and burning into the eye bolt. He watched sharply as the metal began to melt into an ember pool, briskly moving his torch up just a bit to round the bottom curve. He quickly removed his torch and slid the opened link back over the pool, striking once more and letting the metals fuse together, a beautiful cataclysm of melted greys to match the dulled thrill in the boy's own eyes.

Once more, he removed the torch, gently setting it on the concrete floor and getting to his feet, switching off his amplifier. He grasped a small chipping hammer off to the side, lightly tapping against the heated bolt and chain to rid his creation of slag. He nodded to himself approvingly as the light taps did little to budge his work. He tore the helmet off his head, running his sleeve over his forehead tiredly. He glanced down at the other end of his cable, scooching down the short length to take a look at his previous job.

He picked up the dangling end, smirking at the wielded link and the gleaming green choker collar hanging through the extra loop by its pieces. Craig tugged on the end of the collar brutally, watching for any sign of bending, smiling satisfactorily at the lack of give. He tore off his work glove and dug into his pocket, clasping along a small padlock. He pulled it out and snapped it between the collar's connecting links and the heavy chain. He undid the collar's latch, trying to pull the ends apart and grinning maliciously at the refusal to separate.

A gentle, happy sigh flew past his lips, gripping the orange tag with Kyle's name prominently gleaming in silver and stroking his thumb along the metal. This was so _perfect_ he could nearly taste what was to come.

The noirette got to his feet, letting the chain clatter down to the ground and making way back to the eye bolt. He grabbed the end of his cord and placed his foot against the metal sheet leaning on the beam, gritting his teeth as he tried to tug it out. After a good ten seconds of tugging and not a millimeter of movement, he dropped it once again, eyes gleaming excitedly.

A dark chuckle escaped him, quickly moving to grab his metal sheet and move it to the open barn door. He turned back, grabbing his welding materials and another chain lingering in a plastic bag far off and away. He sighed tiredly, shaking his head. This was taking just _so_ much work to make things suitable for his new addition. After all, he still had phone calls to make, a truck bed to measure for a cover, curtains to buy, and another chain to weld to that radiator in the kitchen.

And piling on top of all that, he had a party to attend that night, and the chance of a lifetime to take.


	9. Chapter 9

The smile couldn't seem to leave Kyle's face, entire body shaking and wobbling as he stood pureeing tomatoes for sauce. He'd never felt so relaxed in his _life_. Even the impending arrival of Craig couldn't seem to get to him. He glanced over to the side, smirking at Kenny cursing out a cheese grater as he tried to valiantly struggle against his mozzarella. He shook his head with a laugh as he pulsed the blender under his hands, green eyes lazily watching the twirling of the fruit into a pile of mush.

"Okay, I'm _just saying_ ," Kenny started slowly, "They sell jarred sauce and pre-shredded cheese and dough," he gestured to the five bowls lined along their table. Underneath separate dish towels, the homemade crust was rising to Kyle's specifications, taking out sugar and breathing into the moist air, just waiting to be beaten back down by expert hands.

Kyle scoffed, taking his tomatoes from the blender and pouring them into a saucepan already suited and boiling with the fruits' other mutilated brethren as he twisted around to grab seasonings. "You _like_ my pizza."

"Yeah, but you're making this ten times harder," he pouted.

Kyle looked at him primly. "No pre-packaged crust is going to be that garlic parmesan you like so much."

"Okay, but-"

"And _no_ store bought sauce tastes as good as homemade, Kenneth," he lectured. Kenny twisted his lips at the name and Kyle smirked at indulging his privilage. "You asked me to do this, I'm doing it _my_ way."

"Why does your way always have to be so looonnngggg?" he whined.

"Because otherwise, we would've been done with today's activities by ten this morning and I don't think you wanted that," he recounted, elbowing him as he passed by to grab a bulb of garlic. "Didn't hear you complaining then."

He scoffed, "That's different."

Kyle raised his brow. He gestured to his boiling sauce before beginning to work on his clove shells. "Did you know that tomatoes have a decent amount of protein for their size?" he questioned casually. Kenny looked at him confusedly and he shrugged as he began to mince his garlic. "You're, what, 164 pounds?"

"Don't be discussin' my love handles," Kenny chuckled, grasping at the skin around his slender waist and jiggling it a bit.

Kyle rolled his eyes, grabbing an onion and beginning to dice away. "You need about 60 grams of protein a day," he continued. "Tomatoes each have about two grams worth."

"I ain't eatin' thirty tomatoes," he frowned.

He snorted, "No need, you already got about fifteen worth, maybe a little more today."

Kenny looked up in thought. "All I had to eat was a cookie."

"Hmm, yes but you had three distinct drinks I was happy to share with you," he grinned sweetly, glancing at him from the sides of his eyes as he walked over to his pot to dump in his bulbs, waiting for Kenny's brain to catch up with him.

The blonde finally hit his meaning and burst out laughing, "Jesus fucking Christ, Kyle."

"Anyway," he said cooly, grabbing some oregano from beside him and beating the container against his hand to loosen the contents. "With store bought tomato sauce, they water it down to save on money. Therefore, you lose your nutrients. Since we're not _using_ store brand, we're getting every ounce of protein that we need since we neglected to actually eat a real meal today."

Kenny snorted, shaking his head and his shoulders shaking with laughter. He threw his grated block down and walked up behind him, kissing his ear lightly. "I think we both got a hearty helping of meat today, though. Tasted pretty great," he purred, nipping his lobe. "And Cartman said kosher is disgusting and unnecessary, the fool."

"No such thing as kosher when you're around, Kenny. You're fucking full of cheese," he elbowed his stomach as the blonde laughed again and backed off of him. Kyle leaned up and kissed his neck tenderly before grasping a handful of basil from the plant on the windowsill and ripping the leaves off, glancing back at the blonde smiling at him goofily. "You gonna grate that mozzarella or am I gonna grate your nutsack?" he quirked his brow.

Kenny scoffed derisively, heading back to his station. "I mean, nuts are a great source of protein, too," he commented offhandedly.

"Yeah, but keep it up and I'll develop an allergy."

" _Harsh_."

Kyle chuckled, mincing up the leaves and glancing towards the living room as the front door was assaulted with knocks. "You gonna get it or should I?"

"Can you?" he whined. "Me n' this cheese are gonna have t' go mano y mano here in a minute."

"Well, nice to know my future will be spent with a block of fucking cheddar."

"Hey!" he pouted as Kyle chuckled, lying his knife down and wiping the residue of his basil off onto his apron. He tore open the door to find a group staring at him eagerly.

"Dinner ain't done yet," he informed them.

They pouted before Stan snorted, stepping inside first and elbowing his arm. "Look at you with your apron. Aren't you a regular Martha Stewart?" he teased.

Kyle scoffed, watching the others piling in in front of them and glaring at his best friend. "She went to jail for insider trading. I'll go to jail for decorating the house with your intestines," he raised his brow in warning. Stan rolled his eyes amusedly, standing a bit closer to the redhead as the last guest brought up the rear. Kyle found himself staring silently into grey eyes, that comfortable bliss fading almost instantly. He cleared his throat, "Hey, Craig," he tried to say as casually as he could muster.

"Broflovski," he nodded curtly, watching him close the door. His eyes swiftly scanned over Kyle's body, raising them back in time for the redhead to catch his gaze again. Stan stood off to the side, observing and narrowing his eyes at what Craig had just done. At least, what he _thought_ he'd done. Too quick to be sure.

"How're you?" Kyle asked slowly, gulping subtly. Force the conversation along. That was the only way to make this work.

"Peachy. You?" he replied cooly.

Kyle's teeth clacked in frustration. Why was _he_ so chill while Kyle was a complete mess? This just had to be him. No one else saw this, it _had_ to be in his imagination. "Fine," he managed to croak out, feeling Stan staring at him concernedly. "Just...gotta...finish dinner," he said softly.

"Need any help?" the noirette offered. Kyle flickered his eyes to Stan for help with an answer, to which his best friend shrugged, worry glazing his deep blue eyes for the redhead.

Kyle took a deep breath, "Um, actually, if you want to help, that'd be great," he said slowly. He stepped off back from him, looking at the guys crowding around his sofa. "Remote's in the basket on the coffee table, geniuses," he rolled his eyes.

Clyde stuck his tongue out, "Well excuse us, Mr. Spick and Span. _Most_ guys just throw their remotes wherever the fuck it lands."

"Guess I'm not most guys, then," he raised his brow, Craig licking his lips out of sight of the rest of the group. He turned to see Kevin and smirked, "So. Forgot to wrap it, Stoley?"

"It broookkeee," he whined, putting his head in his hands childishly.

Kyle shrugged, "I'm just sayin', you guys all call me and Ken fags, but _we_ don't have that risk."

"But we don't want fucked in the ass," Token scoffed.

"Neither do I," Kenny's voice popped up as he poked his head out with a large grin. The group watched Kyle's face going beet red as he shifted uncomfortably.

He nodded curtly to his beaming boyfriend. "Thanks, Kenny. You know, I _might_ have a bit of an allergy problem for the next two weeks, so, you know, watch what you have around me," he frowned. He stepped up and bashed his shoulder into Kenny's side who pouted, watching Stan and Craig following the redhead into the kitchen. He gave Craig a firm look and the noirette just rolled his eyes in response.

Kyle turned and sighed, "Stan, will you help, too?"

"Sure," he shrugged. "I don't have to wear your little fru-fru get up, do I?"

"Fuck you, sauce splatters," he frowned. "Go knead some dough, the pans are already set up," he waved him towards the table. He glanced at Craig staring at him expectantly, shifting a bit. Kenny and Stan watched the both of them, feeling the tension and glancing at each other confusedly. "Can you...cut pepperoni?" Kyle finally asked.

He shrugged nonchalantly, "Whatever."

Kyle nodded meekly, walking over to his free standing cabinet in the corner and whipping it open, grabbing a long stick of pepperoni and placing it on the table on top of a cutting board. "Knives are behind you," he said quietly. He watched as Craig fluidly twisted and grabbed a chef's knife from the block, casually twisting it in his fingers like it was _part_ of his hand. The redhead gulped, stepping to the side as Craig came up and grabbed the stick, easily slicing the package and beginning to work.

"Ky?" Kenny asked softly. The redhead shot his head over and blinked at him. "Your sauce is bubblin' pretty good."

"Shit," he spat, hurrying to the pot and turning down the stove. He reached back to the island and threw his basil in, trying to get the flavors to meld into the sauce and stir it down. Ken and Stan shared another look, glancing from their separate tasks to Kyle's hunched back as he tried to save the scalded parts of his creation, to Craig's eyes flickering up to Kyle with an unreadable gleam.

* * *

It took almost four beers, but Kyle was finally starting to relax again. The guys couldn't stop scarfing down his pizza, Kenny had him sitting on his lap to 'conserve space' as he put it. Everyone just seemed at ease, especially once Kevin finally admitted he was excited for what was approaching him in so few months, just scared out of his mind.

After twenty minutes of what Cartman referred to as 'the second gayest conversation they'd had since Kahl came out' as they talked him down, even Stoley felt like he could breathe again. Kyle leaned back against Kenny, resting his head atop the blonde mop and nestling down into his scent. He hated that the alcohol was flowing and his house was still full of people, but he hadn't had enough to lose his control just yet.

His eyes scanned around, landing on Craig's staring straight at him. The noise between them seemed to die under the intensity of that look. He cocked his brow just a tad at Craig seeming to look at Kenny's arm wrapped snugly around his waist and shaking his head subtly.

Those stone-cold eyes seemed to pierce through him once again and Kyle narrowed his gaze in the slightest, nuzzling back even closer to Kenny. He saw a spark of _something_ flash through that stare. He bit his lip slightly, trying to figure him out, alcohol warming him enough to propel his gallantry. He turned down to see Kenny staring at Clyde in boredom as he told some story and Kyle tapped his head.

The blonde looked up at him curiously and the redhead pushed down, locking lips against his surprised boyfriend. He dove his tongue into his mouth, hand not holding his beer cupping Kenny's chin with gentle fingers.

"Aw sick!" Cartman gagged.

"Jesus Christ, Kyle, are you drunk already?" Stan complained.

Kyle ignored them, pulling back, sliding Kenny's bottom lip through his teeth. He opened his eyes to see Kenny grinning at him widely, wiggling his brows. The blonde wasn't used to Kyle willingly putting on a show in front of the guys, he was _more_ than happy to go along for the ride. Kyle turned to see Craig's face, which seemed colder than ever. He took a deep breath, staring him down, _daring_ him to say something.

Craig silently got to his feet, pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket and walking outside to the front porch. Kyle watched after him, the guys picking their chatter back up and he bit his lip. He looked from the beer bottle to Kenny's head and took a deep breath.

Now or never.

He kissed Kenny's temple and hopped off his lap, heading to follow the noirette outside. Kenny and Stan looked at each other, a silent pact forging to keep their ears open for things to go awry, but give them their space.

Kyle shivered as he stepped out into the brisk autumn air, clasping around his arms and looking at Craig staring out vacantly into the street. The crisp smell of menthol assaulted Kyle's nostrils and his nose scrunched as he shifted. "Why do you hate me?" he blurted out.

Craig slowly turned to look at him, not seeming the slightest bit surprised at the redhead's presence, though his stomach coiled in excitement. "What?"

"Why. Do. You. Hate. Me?" he repeated, taking another swig of beer to force his tone to remain steady.

Craig scoffed, ashing over the railing. "I don't. You're not worth the energy of hatred," he said blandly.

Kyle blinked before his eyes narrowed. "Oh? I'm not? What, am I just a fucking worm to you or something?"

"No, you're just not worthy of my hate," he shrugged.

The redhead growled, shoving his arm a bit, watching as Craig's eyes sliced up over him dangerously, another shiver rising up his body. "What is your problem with me?" he demanded, gesturing to himself. Craig watched his green eyes alit in anger, biting the inside of his cheek to distract from _another_ body part taking his attention. "Why do you treat me so weird?"

"I don't," he said cooly.

"Even _Ken_ says you do," he spat. Craig's pupils shrunk in the slightest at the blonde's name, thankful for the night sky and Kyle's beer hiding such minute details. "I've never done _anything_ to you!" he insisted. "So, what's your problem?!"

Craig took a deep breath, another long drag seeping in through his lips. He blew the smoke into Kyle's face, taking his opportunity as Kyle clenched his eyes and looked away to gaze up and down his slender form once again. God it'd be so _easy_. Just grab him and _go_. He straightened himself up, remembering the group of people in the house and the fact that Kyle's boyfriend happened to be a very possessive redneck with great aim on his gun. He'd have to wait, and pissing Kyle off certainly wasn't going to get him any closer to his goal. He had to get himself inside his trust somehow. He licked over his lips, watching the redhead rubbing his eyes, innocently unaware as Craig's mind stripped him down and threw him into his truck.

Craig took a long breath. He knew well enough, there was one way to get through Kyle's anger: Bring on the sympathy. The redhead always wanted to save the wounded bird, and Craig was just going to have to begrudgingly snap his own wing.

"I don't have a lot of friends," he said blankly.

"What?" Kyle narrowed his eyes at him.

He shrugged, trying to remember how to look pathetic and only seeing Kenny's stupid pouts he pulled when he was trying to look 'cute' to get what he wanted. "McCormick and I were starting to get close just when you were coming in and it was rocky for awhile," he said, taking another drag and glancing rapidly, seeing Kyle's eyes were on him; Wide and attention focused. He shrugged, staring at the ember cherry glowing in the night, hoping he was pulling off a 'thoughtful' and 'remorseful' persona. In actuality, all he could feel was _hunger_.

"So...you're mad because I took Kenny's attention away?" Kyle said softly, guilt lingering in his tone.

"Not mad, bummed," he 'corrected'. "But, you're his _boyfriend_ ," he hid his spiteful tone as best as he could, remembering his endgame. He couldn't get too snarky here or Kyle's walls would fly right back up. The years of watching him had proved this time and again.

Kyle looked down guiltily, playing with the label of his bottle. "I never told him not to hang out with you," he said quietly. He bit his lip, trying to recall if he _ever_ barred Kenny from sticking around with who he wanted to. The alcohol certainly wasn't helping him pinpoint memories very well, but he knew that he'd often encouraged Kenny to go with other people while he studied or worked.

"I'm not angry," Craig said. "And I don't hate you. Don't pin that on me."

Kyle cringed, looking back up to see those piercing eyes still staring him down, gulping as they seemed to go straight through his bone. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be," he replied dryly, letting another hit dance over his tongue. "Shit happens. You and McCormick do your thing and I do mine. That's fucking life."

Kyle sighed, "It doesn't have to be so cut and dry," he said, taking another sip and sniffling in the chilled air. "You're always welcome to hang out with Kenny. I won't stop you unless it's something important," he promised.

Craig raised his brow, "The way he confronted me the other day, it doesn't seem so."

The redhead jerked back. "Excuse me?"

The noirette stared at him straight on. Interesting. "Thursday. He came to my house and wanted to know why I 'hated you', too," he elaborated.

Kyle's face blanched before falling into a deep red illuminated by moonlight. Craig's breath nearly hitched at the sight, Kyle looking so small and nervous. "I told him not to talk to you, that I'd figure it out myself."

"Sounds to me like you can't trust him," he said smoothly, cursing to himself as Kyle's eyes shot up angrily.

"I'd trust Kenny with my _life_ ," he hissed. "He was trying to _help_ me. He didn't do it out of malice, you fuck!"

Those walls were building and Craig had to dismantle them _fast_. "Sorry, you're right," he said calmly. "I've never had anyone like that, so I guess I just don't understand."

He nearly smirked at Kyle's body sinking instantaneously with his words, that remorseful expression seeping back onto his profile. "Sorry," he murmured, looking down at the porch. Craig was brimming with glee like a child. Kyle was his yo-yo, swinging back and forth as he dictated, able to twist his string and let it unwind to the point of leaving the redhead dizzy with confusion, not sure where he stood. It was utterly _perfect_.

"Maybe you and I should start over," he suggested as nonchalantly as he could manage. Kyle looked up at him skeptically and he shrugged. "Maybe the two of us hang out without McCormick and see if us trying to get along really is a lost cause. "For McCormick," he added

Kyle blinked, looking down at the porch again and sighing. A part of him really _really_ hated to consider that...But it was for _Kenny's_ sake, not his own. "Okay," he said quietly. "We can try." He looked up at Craig again and offered a meek smile, Craig giving a small nod in return. Kyle opened his mouth to say something before changing his mind and closing it, opting to silently turn and go back into the house.

Craig watched the door close and his face fell into a wicked smirk. Kyle had taken the bait. It was nearly time to reel him in.


	10. Chapter 10

Patience had never exactly been Craig's niche, and never was it more apparent than as he sat in his office staring blatantly at his desk phone, waiting for his call. He glanced up at the clock and frowned. It was 12:30, and he was promised to have a call by _12._ He muttered to himself, trying to make himself look busy as employees passed by his window. It was another lazy Sunday at the store and he simply couldn't be bothered even giving them mundane tasks. They were fucking adults and they could _find_ something to do. If they were shooting up in the bathroom, he didn't care, just so long as they stayed out of his way.

The phone finally began ringing and he grabbed it hastily before one of the cashiers could. "This is Craig," he answered bluntly.

" _Mr. Tucker? This is Dr. Wyatt, we had a conversation earlier through email?"_

"Yes, yes, I know," he frowned. "Your assistant-"

" _Is rather behind,"_ the man chuckled softly, a kindness to his voice that made Craig roll his eyes. _"Sorry it took me so long to get back in contact."_

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. "That's no problem," he forced out. "So do you have an answer for me?"

A moment of quiet passed before the man cleared his throat. _"We think it's an excellent idea to educate the public, Mr. Tucker, not to mention the publicity for the office you want to give, but we have some concerns about the safety of the medication."_

"No need to worry about that," Craig replied smoothly. "It'll be kept in my office in my safe and then passed straight on to whomever you send over. It'll never be out in the public's open view without supervision."

He paused, hearing the man murmuring something to someone else. He drummed his fingers on the desk impatiently, taking a steadying breath to calm his nerves. _"We suppose that would be all right."_ The man finally replied. Craig smiled maliciously before forcing his face back down, remembering the window over to his left.

"So someone will be over with the medications today?" he asked.

" _Yes, I'll send Kara over to you over lunch in about an hour. She'll be the one providing the demonstration tomorrow and will make sure you store them properly."_

Craig smirked, nodding slowly. "Sounds great. We'll see her then."

* * *

Kyle couldn't stop himself from glancing up at Kenny, whose eyes were trained on the TV as he mindlessly rubbed Kyle's feet. The redhead sighed tiredly, unable to focus on his book and shifting a bit. "What do you want for lunch?" he asked quietly.

Ken shrugged, looking at him briefly. "I don't care. What're you in the mood for?"

' _Something with alcohol,'_ he thought tiredly. "Can we order something?" he asked.

Kenny finally tore his gaze fully from the TV and raised his brow. "Order something? Mr. Why-order-it-when-I-can-make-it-better wants to _order something_?" he teased.

Kyle frowned, pushing his foot against Kenny's stomach lightly. "Well, excuse me for preferring homemade food, but I'm seriously just not in the mood to cook right now."

The blonde blinked at him for a moment before grabbing the remote and muting the TV, staring at him in interest. "Ky, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," he insisted.

He rolled his eyes, "For the love of fuck, Kyle, you know you can't hide this shit from me. Don't make me get Stan over here so he can back me up." He pouted, fingernail tracing lightly over the book in front of him and dropping his eyes down to the page number. Kenny cocked his head a bit, "You've been quiet like this since last night. What's wrong?"

He sighed. "I want Mexican."

"Good for fucking you, answer my goddamn question," he frowned.

Kyle scowled back before letting it drop tiredly. His mind had been spinning since talking with Craig last night. He felt so bad but he still just felt so _wrong_. It was eating him alive. He'd barely slept, seeing those eyes staring him down every time he shut his own. He looked up to see Kenny waiting for him to talk and bit his lip. "I talked to Craig last night."

"I know," he raised his brow. "I watched you walk out with him. Did you two fight?"

"Not...exactly," he winced. "He did tell me that you decided to go attack him, though," he said quietly.

Kenny gulped and cleared his throat. "I didn't 'attack' him," he corrected. "I told him that you both matter to me, but you matter more, so he needed to let me know if there was a problem."

Kyle cringed at the phrase, ignoring the flattered fluttering of his heart. It too heavily contradicted with the sickening twist of self-condemnation slowly delving itself into his gut. "He thinks I stole you," he whispered meekly.

Kenny cocked his head slowly before sputtering with laughter. "What? What, does Tucker have the hots for me, too? I mean, I _know_ I'm damn fine but-"

"Ken," he stopped him in exasperation. "He doesn't like the fact that I took your time so much when we were dating."

"...We're still dating, right?"

"I mean when we _started_ ," he sighed, getting aggravated with Kenny just refusing to look at the big picture. "I think he really holds that against me that I was...you know...the one holding back your friendship."

The blonde narrowed his eyes. "Holding back our friendship? Is _that_ what he said?"

"You know Craig isn't that eloquent," he rolled his eyes. "But it was really heavily implied and I feel like such shit," he admitted, slamming his head against the armrest and staring at the ceiling.

Kenny blinked a bit, going to rub Kyle's calf soothingly. "Ky, Babe, you're not shit."

"But I _feel_ like it," he whined a bit. "I mean, remember what Stan told _you_ when we started going out?"

He nodded with a smirk, "'Kenny, I swear to God, if Kyle comes out of this with AIDS again I'll rip off your dick.'"

"Not _that,_ you idiot, I mean about him and I!"

He chuckled. "Yeah. 'Thursday nights are still mine and his Playstation nights so don't even fucking _try_ to take that away from me.'" He quoted with a playful smile. "I'm just sayin', I think Stan has some bisexual tendencies tucked away just for you."

Kyle crinkled his nose and the blonde burst out laughing. "Moving past _that_ horrifyingly scarring image," Kyle shuddered, "what if that's how Craig felt?"

Kenny simmered down and huffed out a small last laugh. "Ky, you and Stan have been attached at the hip since we were fucking _three_ , okay? A little different than me and Craig bonding over smokes when we were fucking 17."

"But what if Craig didn't see it like that?" he questioned softly. "He told me he doesn't have many friends."

"Except for Token, Clyde, and Tweek?" he raised his brow.

He shrugged, "Token and Clyde are always busy with Bebe and Annie, they've been like that since high school. And Tweek's so spastic that doing anything besides getting coffee with him is a chore," he reminded him. "You were probably his only, and I use this term loosely, _normal_ friend who made time for him."

Kenny twisted his lips a bit, fingers still stroking over his calf muscles as he thought. "Do you think he's so weird with ya to get back at me?"

"No, I think he's weird with me _just_ because of me," he sighed, sitting up straighter and watching his boyfriend tiredly. "I feel awful," he confessed. "Because...a part of me doesn't fucking _care_ ," he winced, watching Kenny raise his brow. "He still just has that vibe where I feel like he's going to break my leg so you and him can hang out more while I'm laid up."

Kenny chuckled softly, patting his shin, "Ky, you don't _have_ to care."

"But I should," he groaned, throwing his book behind him and raking through his hair. "I caused the problem!"

"Ya didn't cause _anything_ ," he insisted. "I chose to hang out with you and tap your fine ass instead of goin' to smoke pot with Craig, Dude. _I_ made those calls, not you."

He pointed at him accusingly, "See? There it is! I _influenced you_."

"Oh dear lord," Kenny closed his eyes and leaned his head on the back of the couch, placing a hand on his forehead and wondering why he hadn't just gone to pick up the Mexican food yet.

Kyle bit his lip, eyes flickering around in panicked, racing thought, "If it wasn't for you wanting to fuck me all the goddamn time, you wouldn't have seen me as often, and Craig wouldn't be angry at me, and I wouldn't have this feeling, and I would be able to sleep, and-"

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa_ ," Kenny held up his hand with a small laugh of disbelief. "Calm your mojo there, Ky. You're rambling."

He folded in his lips and bit them lightly, sitting up taller and taking his legs back, crossing them and staring at the boy. "Ken. He wants me to hang out with him and be my friend."

"But...you still don't feel comfortable with him," he finished slowly, watching Kyle nodding along with the words. "Then don't. You don't have to."

"I feel like I owe him though," he nearly whimpered, shoulders dropping defeatedly. "And...and that's not _fair to you_ ," he emphasized.

He rolled his eyes, "I _told_ you it's fine!"

"But you don't mean it," he snapped.

Kenny blinked and narrowed his eyes slightly, "What, you think I'm lyin' to ya?"

"No, I think you're...I don't know," he said honestly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I feel like you're just saying it to make it so I don't feel guilty."

The blonde shook his head, letting out a long breath through his nose. "Kyle. I'm _not_ gonna force you into a fucking friendship. What you do with Craig is up to _you_. I'm telling you that I am _fine_ with however _you_ want to take it," he frowned. "Craig ain't the dude I'm bangin', okay? I don't give two shits about his opinion and neither should you."

Kyle looked at him sadly, "I don't know how I feel," he said quietly. "And if he's your friend, you _should_ care."

Kenny chuckled lightly, leaning over and kissing him softly. "You're so much of a bleeding heart you cover both of us," he teased. "Now. I'm gonna get a menu, we're gonna have Mexican food, we're gonna watch a shitty movie, and then we're gonna play 'make Kyle feel better with a blowjob'. How's that?"

Kyle smiled crookedly at him, "Hopefully you'll brush your teeth in there somewhere. No one wants jalapeño dick." Kenny snorted, kissing him again and hopping up to search the kitchen for their menu.

Kyle watched after him for a moment before turning back and staring at his legs, eyes drooping tiredly. He was being utterly ridiculous. Craig was willing to open up to him and he was treating it like fucking Cartman would. He bit his lip and closed his eyes a bit, seeing that grey staring back and repressing a shudder. Maybe _he_ made Craig feel uncomfortable, too. Maybe there was a vibe _he_ was giving off that made Craig so defensive and snappy towards him. The redhead looked back around the living room and sighed. He'd just have to find a way to fix this. If not for Kenny's sake, then for his own.

* * *

Craig looked at the list in his hand, shaking his head a bit. Why the woman had to _write_ 'keep in a cool, dark place' for every item was beyond him. He wasn't fucking three. Whether or not he had a fancy veterinary degree like Kara's bubbly ass, he knew how to fucking store things. He watched from the store window as she got into her car and drove off, smirking to himself and making way towards the back of the store.

"Gollie, she sure was nice!" Butters chipped up from beside him. Craig rolled his eyes, guessing that the blonde was just as bored as the other associates. Kara giving them a basic rundown of what she was going to be presenting tomorrow had only lasted about ten minutes before the little group was resorted to going back to aimlessly messing up aisles just to fix them again.

Craig took a sharp turn down the medications aisle as Butters talked about how 'pretty' Kara's hair was and how he couldn't _wait_ to learn about the different 'doggie medications'. He ignored the bumbling idiot, unlocking a case and pulling out two boxes one containing a clear, and the other a dark brown bottle. He looked at the two of them, nodding satisfactorily. "Butters," he interrupted the man's rambling. The blonde stopped short and cocked his head. "I need you to take these boxes, dump the bottles out into the sink, rinse them out _thoroughly,_ fill them with water, and bring them back to me," he directed plainly.

Butters took the boxes, blinking confusedly. "Well...well what fer?"

"The brand's under a possible recall," Craig answered smoothly. "But they want the medication dumped out and water put in to be able to test the weight of the bottle."

A moment passed as Butters' mind tried to catch up before he smiled widely. "No problem!"

"Bring 'em to my office when you're done!" he ordered sharply to the hurrying blonde. He shook his head as he watched him scurrying off. Fucking idiot.

He turned back around and headed into his office, glancing at the security camera feed for the cash office and nodding to himself. Time for a bank run.

He quickly made way into the separate room and bent down to the safe, punching in his pin with a grin. 0-5-2-6. He cracked his neck nonchalantly, waiting for the telltale beep. He licked over his lips, keeping his back directed at the camera as he bent towards the change drawer and grabbed his deposit from the top of an empty till. He looked up at the bottles in the top shelf of the safe, quickly grabbing two of them and shoving them in his case under the deposit bag.

Casually, he got to his feet and kicked the safe shut as he always did, heading to walk out of the cash office into his workstation. He looked to see Butters tapping on the window eagerly and sighed, opening the door and grabbing the boxes and bottles from him. "Thanks, now go help organize the back. I'm running to the bank."

"Ain't it closed?" he cocked his head.

"Taking the deposit, don't need to get into the bank for that," he shrugged, waving him off. Butters nodded, turning on his heel and hurrying back towards the warehouse. Craig reached back onto one of his shelves, grabbing a plastic cup and tossing it into his bag, quickly heading outside. He nodded to the cashier on his way to the front door, glancing to see his truck blockaded from sight by an SUV. He grinned. Even easier than he expected.

He quickly got into the truck, glancing around for passer-bys before tearing the medication bottles all out of the bag. He grabbed the ones filled with water, dumping both of their contents into the cup, shaking out every droplet he could. Slowly, he raised the brown bottle from the vet, scanning the label with a smirk. ' _Midazolam - Injection, USP - 50 mg/10 mL'._ Very cautiously with a sturdy hand, he lifted his empty brown bottle, pouring the medication down into it. His sharp eye caught a slight yellow tint, nodding to himself briefly. He stopped his pouring when a dime's width remained in the bottle. He carefully screwed the lid back onto his own container, ensuring its tightness and opening his glove box, pulling out a padded bag and slipping it inside.

He filled the Midazolam bottle about halfway with water, shaking the solution a bit before pouring some into the lid, smirking at the yellow coloring spilled throughout. He swiftly topped off the mixture and recapped it, shoving it into his deposit bag once more.

He reached in and snagged the second bottle, clear as water itself. _'Ketamine HCI -Injection, USP - 500 mg per 5 mL'._ He shuddered with excitement, opening the bottle and checking for a smell, nodding happily at the lack thereof and quickly repeating the transfer process with his emptied clear bottle.

When all containers were secure and tucked into their respective places, he finally buckled himself in and drove off towards the bank, his lips curled up deviously. He'd created some extra work for himself with this. He'd have to damage out those boxes he'd snagged. After all, damn kids just wouldn't stop stealing merchandise, even if it _was_ medication for arthritis in dogs. Craig leaned back in his seat, taking a content breath through his nose.

Tomorrow he was off at three, and Kyle would be home all alone. It was time to make good on his promise, and start off the beginning of a _beautiful_ friendship.


	11. Chapter 11

The house was its usual Monday quietness, and Kyle was feeling impatient from the stoic sound. He knew he had about an hour before Kenny got home, he'd been living like that for the past year. But something about today was just unnervingly silent. He'd tried to drown it out through the washer and blasting a documentary over the television earlier, but even then he just seemed to find himself lost in the void.

He stood at the stove stirring a pot of pasta, watching the penne as it broke from each other and running a hand through his hair. He was too damn tired for this. He should've just told Kenny to pick up goddamn McDonalds on the way home, not like the blonde would've minded. His free hand drifted to a pot of melted cheese on the back burner, both hands twirling around, trying to keep himself busy. He tapped his socked foot gently against the floor, keeping a steady beat as he worked. He pulled his cheese spoon out of the pot, watching the thick substance dripping down back into the pool. He smiled tiredly. Kenny loved this shit, at least _one_ of them would go to bed happy tonight. Kyle pulled his phone out of his pocket and lazily checked his email as he continued to work his cheese. He rolled his eyes at another message from Thomas needing yet another report fixed. Great. He tossed the device onto the counter and sighed. Just what he needed. _Another_ mess to fix.

His timer went off and he jolted, blinking as he turned down his cheese and took the pasta to his colander, wincing at the steam flying back up into his face as he dumped it out. He sighed, throwing the empty pot into the sink and scratching his head. Maybe he needed to get a job for just Mondays, because this being home and productive thing alone with his thoughts was taking a toll on his nerves.

He turned his head at a knock coming from the living room, cocking his head. He hesitated for a moment before sighing, stepping out through the way and walking up to the door. He opened it to find Craig staring at him, going rigid for a moment before forcing himself down. "Hi?" he raised his brow.

"Hi," he replied bluntly. "Can I come in?"

"Uh, sure. Ken's not home, though," he said softly, stepping aside to let the noirette pass.

Craig kept his smug grin under control. "I know. Wanted to see you."

He cleared his throat a bit, looking at the taller boy and nodding as he stepped past him, leading him back into the kitchen. "Any particular reason?" he asked as calmly as he could, making way to his bubbling cheese, turning off the stove and spraying down a casserole dish.

"Not really," he lied, watching the boy carefully as he moved about. He bit his lip lightly, watching the subtle flexing of his muscles as he moved containers around. "Figured I'd give us a head start on what we agreed to on Saturday."

Kyle gulped, turning and giving him a forced, small smile. "Didn't have to start so soon," he said awkwardly. "If I'm not worth the energy to hate, I doubt I'm worth the energy to make amends with so fast."

"Hm," he mused, lingering in the doorway as Kyle dumped pasta and cheese into his dish, mixing it through with a grimace at the slurping sound that ensued.

"You wanting to stay for dinner?" Kyle offered, trying to dispel the weird tension lingering in his kitchen.

Craig shook his head, "Got somethin' at home."

"Ah," he nodded softly, taking a deep breath. He shoved the pasta into the oven, setting it for forty minutes and looking back to stare at the noirette, a strange look smoldering in his gaze. "Craig? You okay?"

"Tired," he replied bluntly. "Was up all night making something for you and McCormick."

Kyle blinked confusedly. "Making us something?" he repeated.

He nodded, "Yeah. Got a problem with that?"

Kyle shook his head frantically, a blush riding his cheeks that made Craig nearly squirm in his place. "No, no problems. Just...surprised," he said softly.

"I'll go get it," Craig said, leaning off of the doorway.

"Don't you wanna wait until Kenny's here?" Kyle called after him, still reeling from the implication.

Craig didn't look back at him, a sly grin creeping up his face. "I'm leaving before he gets home," he said casually as he headed out the front door. Kyle watched after him, blinking rapidly before shaking his head out of his stupor. Okay, apparently Craig _really_ was trying here. Kyle pouted, shifting guiltily before turning back to his cheese pot and tiredly starting the sink, beginning to work through the cheddar settling like mortar. He grunted a bit at the strain, knowing he had to do this now or it'd be a disaster by the time Kenny got home.

His ears perked at the front door opening once again, taking a deep breath as he heard Craig approaching him slowly from behind. He had to play this smoothly. Had to just _ease_ it all through. He heard the boy stop behind him and went to turn his head, stopping as something blunt jabbed against the back of his neck. "What the fu-" he stopped short, jaw dropping at the familiar sound of a forestock being cocked.

"Don't turn," Craig ordered, voice oily as he watched Kyle's body go rigid.

"What...what are you-"

"Shut up," he snapped, jabbing his neck again. Kyle's pupils shrunk, chest heaving in panic. He knew it. He _fucking knew it_. And he let the bastard into his house when he was _alone_. He looked as a piece of fabric flew onto his shoulder. "Tie it around your eyes."

His jaw trembled, looking from the navy piece of cotton back to his running sink. "No," he whispered, crying out as the muzzle slammed into the back of his skull. He careened forward, forehead bashing into the faucet and sending him down onto the linoleum in a crumpled heap. He groaned, touching his skin and wincing at the red rushing over his fingertips and dripping onto the floor. He glanced up to see himself staring down the barrel, looking past it into those calculating grey eyes.

"Do it and I won't blow a hole through your shoulder," he said, far too calm for the situation. Kyle's fingers twitched, entire body quaking as Craig pushed his chin up with the foresight, forcing him to look up at him. The noirette shuddered at the pure fear running through those forested eyes. " _Now_ , Broflovski," he demanded sharply.

Kyle let out a shaking breath, looking at the fabric still hanging loosely off his shoulder. He bit his lip. He didn't have any fucking options here. He'd seen Kenny working his own shotgun, he knew how unstable the fuckers could be, and Craig could blow his head off before he got anywhere near pushing it away. He lethargically grabbed the cloth, Craig watching his every move and nearly groaning as Kyle complied, wrapping the dark fabric around his eyes, holding back a whimper as he did so.

This was it. His execution.

Craig held the gun in one hand against Kyle's chin by the receiver, reaching into his back pocket and grabbing a bag of large zip ties. "Put your left hand up," he directed.

Kyle did so, biting his tongue lightly. He felt the muzzle being pulled from his skin and breathed a sigh of slight relief. Fingers started moving his wrist to the cabinet and his eyes widened.

Craig couldn't hold him and the gun at the same time.

He took his chance, snarling and lashing out at Craig with his fist. "LET GO OF ME!" he demanded, aiming for where he estimated the boy's head was. Craig took a few blows to his shoulder, letting his frustration build. He grabbed Kyle's bangs, bitten fingernails digging into his scalp as he threw his head back with a large _smack_ against the cabinet door.

A wave of nausea started all at once with the impact, but Kyle couldn't slow his assault as he felt plastic being secured around his wrist against the metal cabinet handle. "STOP!" he screeched, going to rip off his blindfold before the zip-tie tied him down and Craig grabbed his other hand, slamming his shin down onto Kyle's kicking legs. "Craig, stop!" he begged.

Craig let out a soft sound that made Kyle's hair stand on end. The noirette shook himself and forced Kyle's other arm to another door, grunting as he tried to hold Kyle's thrashing still. He licked over his lips, sliding the heavy plastic around his slender wrist and quickly pulling it taut, relishing in the panicked sound that escaped Kyle. He backed up, keeping his weight on Kyle's legs as he watched him trying to wriggle out, the doors opening slightly and slamming shut with his jostling. "Let me go!" he screamed, tears welling his covered eyes. "This isn't fucking funny!"

"Good, then you know I mean it," he breathed out, reaching forward and touching Kyle's face. The redhead yelped and jerked back, head smacking into the wood behind him. He turned his face away, gritting his teeth and letting wisps of air swoosh between them as Craig trailed his fingers up his cheek. Those stubby nails suddenly curved, running in soft lines behind his ear time and again. Craig closed his eyes, letting the plush sensation of Kyle's hair and the heat erupting from his cheeks fill him with a ravenous appetite he didn't know could exist. This was finally _his_. Not _**McCormick's**_.

He snapped himself into alert. He had to get moving. He stood himself up, avoiding as Kyle's legs began jerking, kicking furiously and trying to bring the noirette down. "You fucking psychopath!" Kyle screamed, spittle flying from his lips in his rage. "I'll fucking kill you!"

"Hard to do that when you're tied up," he replied nonchalantly, searching their cabinets with lazy eyes.

Kyle screeched from behind his teeth, thrusting his chest out and trying to break his binds. He winced at the sharp edges slicing into his wrists, but it didn't matter. He had to get _out_.

"Ah ha," Craig said to himself, reaching into their far-side pantry and ripping out a box of needles. He smirked, looking at the struggling redhead amusedly. No elaborate planning needed for _this_ part. Kyle's insulin woes suited his needs just fine for now.

He placed the box on the floor, snagging a syringe and kneeling back on Kyle's legs. Kyle whined, kicking underneath him and Craig rolled his eyes. He turned on the boy's legs, bearing his weight down and grabbing a socked foot, quickly wrapping a zip tie loosely around his ankle. Kyle's heart stopped once again, breathing out of control as he continued to struggle; A fruitless effort as Craig easily slid another bind through the first, snapping his ankles together and securing them against one another.

"What did I do to you?!" he pleaded, feeling Craig gently rubbing his forearm as he turned back around.

Craig watched him, taking the bottles of medication out of his pocket and setting them out of Kyle's reach. "You went for _him_ ," he replied smoothly, grabbing his midazolam and uncapping a needle. Very carefully, he filled it to 5 milliliters and turned Kyle's right arm, firmly planting it against the cabinet. He licked his lips, "Hold still and I won't kill you," he said lowly.

Kyle blinked, Craig's answer and threat combating for dominance in his overwhelmed mind. His mouth dropped with a sharp pinch sliding into his inner elbow before it was gone, Craig's thumb rubbing over the spot. "What did you just do?" he asked, voice cracking. He knew that feeling. He just injected him with something, and he didn't know _what_.

"Not important," he said cooly, pulling out his phone and beginning his stopwatch, still kneading the tender skin. He said a silent thank you to Kara for so _kindly_ explaining the difference between finding a dog's veins and a human's.

"What...what did you mean?" Kyle demanded, body trembling. "Did _you_ want Kenny?" he snapped. "Sorry, but he's not into fucking crazy pieces of shit!" he spat.

Craig snorted and rolled his eyes. "Please. You're probably the only person on the planet who finds that retard the least bit appealing."

Kyle's head was swimming in confusion, mouth fumbling a bit in loss. "What...what are you..." he yelped as Craig cupped his chin, feeling his scorching breath brushing across his bloodied forehead.

"You're not always the smartest, are you?" he growled, staring at the wild curls and wanting to bury his face into the sweet smell leaking off of them. He glanced down at the stopwatch reading at a minute and a half and nodded to himself, feeling Kyle's pulse under his touch.

"W-wait," he said, groaning as his body tried to melt. Oh no. He whined in frustration, weakly jerking around in his hold. Craig continued watching the clock and feeling his pulse slowing in the slightest as he simmered down bit by bit.

Craig cocked his brow. "Wow. Didn't think it'd get you down that fast," he commented. "Guess being the size of a fucking preteen helps, doesn't it?" he smirked, brushing his thumb along his cheekbone.

"What did you do?" he repeated, head falling back against the cabinet weakly. His eyes were drooping, a fog trying to settle itself over his mind.

"Don't worry," he cooed. "You're gonna be just fine with me." Kyle's heart lurched at the statement, cracked whimpers falling through his throat as he tried to move forward again.

"Let me _out_ ," he begged, feeling the boy getting off his legs.

He smirked. "Later I will." He injected another half a milliliter into the limp boy's arm and got to his feet. "We'll let that settle a few minutes." He turned on his heel and walked away.

Kyle blinked lethargically under his blindfold, bound legs anemically folding up on their sides against him. His ears perked at the sound of the garage door and his jaw trembled. What the fuck was _happening_? He had to get out, had to get to his phone or outside or _something_. He feebly pushed himself forward, falling back against the cabinet exhaustively. His fingers clutched at the air, chest heaving as it fought to calm him down from his panic. The fog was starting to overwhelm him, mind grasping for reasoning, for some kind of plan other than just sitting on his kitchen floor in the hands of a psychopath.

" _Help_ ," he breathed out almost silently, trying to raise his voice. " _Someone...help..._ " He couldn't yell. He couldn't do anything but let his head loll around drearily.

He was lost, he was so fucking _confused_. His entire body focused on making him breathe, almost forgetting the abhorrent state that he was being confined in. He vaguely heard footsteps approaching again, opening his mouth, but only a nearly inaudible 'no' slipping through his lips into the kitchen, hidden under the torrent of water still cascading from the faucet.

Craig smirked. "How long have you been there, Broflovski?" he asked, glancing at his phone again for the time, wondering just how far gone the boy in front of him was.

"...Sec...secon..." he tried to work out, head falling forward.

"Ten minutes," he corrected. Kyle's brain flickered. No. No, that wasn't right. He was lying. He _had_ to be.

Craig snorted triumphantly, leaning down and grasping his bottle of ketamine, preparing yet another needle with one milliliter and lifting Kyle's shirt. The redhead gasped lightly, unsure of why his body was reacting like it was. "Just hold still," Craig murmured, quickly injecting half the solution in the soft skin to the side of his deltoids.

Kyle was silent sans a bit of labored breathing, Craig casually grabbing his bottles and shoving them in his pocket once more. He picked up the box of needles and his gun, beginning to head out to the garage after stopping by the refrigerator to grab Kyle's insulin from the top shelf. He stepped out to his truck, tossing his goodies into his cloth bag and shoving them under his seat, his gun sliding under the back cushions. He looked at the undone cover of his bed, stepping onto the wheel and glancing at the blanket lied down around a series of loading hooks and licked his lips satisfactorily. He hopped back down and walked back into the house, looking at his captive and smirking at his slumped over form.

"Broflovski?" he called in near-song.

Kyle's lips fumbled, nothing but a soft moan breaking through. Craig shuddered, ripping a knife from his pocket and quickly sliding it under the restraints around his wrists. Kyle whimpered, head lolling and falling limply onto Craig's shoulder. The noirette grinned excitedly, grasping under the boy and hefting him into the air with ease. He glanced around for any of his things, nodding to himself and stepping out into the garage with the redhead nearly unconscious in his grasp.

"Quick trip," he promised, lying him down on the edge of the truck bed and hopping over the side into the hold. He pulled Kyle down the ridges, grabbing two more zip ties and quickly re-fastening his wrists behind his back. He tore out another piece of cloth from his pocket and hurriedly tied it between Kyle's teeth, fingers shaking in exhilaration. He moaned as Kyle shifted a bit, a quiet cry falling from his gagged mouth. He licked his lips, he had to get moving. He could enjoy the show later.

He hefted Kyle to the back of the bed onto the blanket, grabbing an assortment of bungee cords and beginning to tie him down against the hooks. The redhead let out a confused, miserable cry and Craig pet his back. "You'll be fine," he assured him soothingly. "You'll be home soon." He backed up as the final cord was tucked between his arms under his back and secured, jostling the boy a bit and grinning at the little give. Kyle was utterly delusional, the air itself seeming to be what was holding him down. "I'll drive carefully," Craig whispered, leaning down and lightly biting the sweet skin of Kyle's bared throat. "I'll take good care of you."

He hopped back down and out of the bed, slamming the door up and quickly lying the heavy tarp back over the layout. Subtle, precise holes were cut for Kyle to be able to breathe. He reopened the garage door and jumped into the front seat, slowly rolling out onto the driveway before hopping back out. He glanced out onto the sidewalk, seeing a couple sitting and talking on the porch next door. He cleared his throat, grabbing the handle of the heavy door. "Thanks, Broflovski!" he called towards the house. "See you later!"

He quickly slammed it back down, brushing his hair out of his eyes and casually walking back to the truck. He saw the neighbors waving to him and gave one back. He tongued over his lips, laughing to himself as he pulled away from Kyle's life, and headed towards their own together.


	12. Chapter 12

Kenny couldn't help but grumble, his shoulders slouched as he tiredly made his way up to the front door. He was fucking exhausted, but getting in some potential for overtime down the way of the week made it a bit more worthwhile. He always used the extra to spoil Kyle with some kind of expensive book or something the redhead had been pining for and got a very happy, very naked boyfriend as his reward. He smiled tiredly at the notion as he pushed open the door.

His nose scrunched automatically as he crossed the threshold at the smell of something burning.

"Kyle?" he called out, raising his brow and hurrying towards the kitchen. His jaw dropped a bit as he looked at the oven, smoke steaming from the sides. "Shit!" he exclaimed, running and throwing open the kitchen door. He grabbed their oven mitts from the counter and pulled down the door, wincing at the billow wafting from the scalded penne. He hurriedly grabbed the dish, hissing and wincing at the heat searing through the gloves as he made way outside, tossing it down onto the concrete sidewalk. He turned and hurried back into the kitchen, opening their window to let the smoke seep out and turning off the faucet. He slammed off the oven, grasping a towel and trying to wave the smoke out of the house.

"Kyle?! Are you okay?" He called out, looking in the direction of the bathroom with his brows furrowed worriedly. He perked his ears for a response, all of a sudden very regretful for taking the batteries out of the damn smoke alarm. "Ky?" he tried again, raising his brow at the boy's phone tossed on the counter. He took a step forward, looking down as he heard a clattering noise beneath his shoe. He blinked confusedly at two syringes lying on the linoleum. His face twisted and he stepped away from them, eyes widening at a small puddle of blood lying nearby, two cut zip ties hanging loosely around their cabinet handles.

His breath caught and he snapped his head around, making a mad dash for the living room. "KYLE!" he screamed frantically. He ran to their bedroom, throwing the door open and finding the bed still stripped of sheets, his chest rising and falling in an absolute terror. He kicked open their bathroom and tore open every closet, continuing to scream Kyle's name. "Oh god...oh _god_ ," he swallowed down a chunk of bile trying to propel out of his throat.

He ran back to the kitchen, sliding onto his knees and looking at the syringes, making damn well sure not to touch them. He whimpered, noting the clear and yellow colors still lingering in the bottoms of the dispensers. These weren't cloudy, they were _not_ his insulin.

"Oh fuck!" he whimpered, grabbing his phone out of his pocket and grabbing at his hair as he dialed, slamming it up to his ear as he stared at the red puddle on his floor, noting the small, bloodied stains on the insides of the zip ties still dangling casually.

" _911, what's your eme-"_

"SEND SOMEONE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!"

* * *

As he pulled his truck up to his barn, his ears perked at the sound of Lila barking frantically from the living room and he smiled. She was _so_ observant, just what he needed. He shut off the truck and hopped out, strolling over towards the building to undo the convoluted mess of a locking system and swinging the door open with a grunt. He glanced at his watch and nodded to himself, Kenny was probably home by now, no doubt in a frantic frenzy to get to the bottom of what had happened.

He meandered to the bed of the vehicle, taking his sweet time as he slowly peeled back the cover, breath hitching at the tied down prize waiting for him. Kyle's chest was slowly rising and falling, eyes half-lidded under his blindfold. He didn't know what was going on, unable to move, to _think_.

Craig hopped onto the bed, slowly prying cables from off around him, holding the bound boy against his chest as he worked out his legs. "There you go," he cooed. Kyle let out a half groan through his nose, head listlessly lolling as Craig buried his face into the crook of his neck, taking a long, satisfactory breath. A hand crawled through his hair, fingers tangling in the twisted mess and stroking lightly along the locks. "Good boy," he murmured into his skin. The words didn't sink in, nor the closeness. All that Kyle could see and feel was a darkness over him, barely able to register as Craig picked him up and slid out of the truck with him in his arms.

Craig brought him into the barn and leaned him against the support pole before turning and heading out to the house. He opened the back door and let Lila burst through, watching amusedly as she hurried by him to greet the new visitor, licking his unresponsive face and wagging her tail excitedly. She barked a bit, digging her paws into the ground around him, trying to get him to play.

"Down, Lila," Craig ordered softly, watching her sit and stare at Kyle, long tongue hanging out as she panted. "Good girl," he praised, kneeling next to her and staring at the redhead with her. "Whaddya think? You wanna keep him?" he grinned. Lila licked his face and he chuckled, scratching behind her ear before reaching forward and slowly petting Kyle's disheveled hair. He bit his lip, body aching as he stared at the Jew's slumped form. He had work to do, he couldn't just sit here and watch him forever. But...a few more moments couldn't hurt.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips against Kyle's cheek and shuddering. "Good boy."

* * *

Kenny stood outside of his house, expression sunken as red and blue flashed in his despondent eyes. The world was shattering underneath his feet, tears leaking without prompt down his cheeks. He just couldn't believe this, couldn't comprehend that something had upended his life so brutally, so without warning.

"Ken!" a familiar voice called. Kenny turned slowly to see Stan rushing towards him from his car parked askew on the curb in his hurry, his own blue eyes alit with panic. He made it up to the blonde and put a hand on his shoulder. "Kenny, what happened? Where's Kyle?" he demanded through his panting, remembering with a chill Kenny's tiny voice as he begged him to come to the house.

"Someone...took...him..." he worked out between sobs, shaking his head and putting his eyes into a trembling palm.

Stan blinked, stomach twisting with nausea. "Took him?" he repeated. "Whaddya mean they took him?"

"I-I came home and...and there was blood and needles...and..." he trailed off with a croak, sniffling miserably. Stan's jaw dropped in shock.

"Are you _sure_ the needles weren't-"

"It wasn't his insulin!" he snapped, already sick to death of revisiting that fact time and again. He looked at the ground defeatedly. "But they _were_ his needles. The box and his insulin are gone," he whispered.

Stan put his hands in front of him defensively. "Okay, okay," he cooed, rubbing his shoulder and trying to worm his way through the confusion and the dread. This didn't make any fucking _sense_.

"Mr. McCormick?" another voice popped up, the both of them looking to see Sergeant Yates approaching him, a stern, concerned look over his lightly wrinkled face.

"Did you find something?" Kenny begged.

The man shook his head. "Mr. McCormick, is there any chance that Mr. Broflovski would have decided to leave?"

Kenny blinked at him for a moment before baring his teeth. "Who the _fuck_ would just up and leave like _that?!"_

"You'd be surprised," he shrugged, brushing some dust off his sleeve. "Maybe he found out he didn't want to be a butt buddy anymore and set the scene," he said seriously.

Stan stared at him, dumbfounded with his bluntness before realizing Kenny was on the brink of assaulting the officer, grabbing around him as he tried to step forward. "Kyle didn't fucking _leave me_ ," he hissed. "If he ever _did_ , it sure as hell wouldn't involve this kind of shit!" he screamed, pointing at the house.

"Mr. McCormick, calm down," he frowned. "I'm only opening you up to the possibility."

He sneered, "No, you're _wasting time!"_ he corrected furiously. "Kyle's out there and someone's got him!" he ripped out of Stan's hold and gestured to the street. "Someone fucking pumped him full of who knows what and-"

"Midazolam," another voice interrupted. They looked to see Officer Murphy walking up beside Yates. "One of 'em at least, not sure about the other. You can tell by the color and smell," he shrugged.

"What the fuck is that?" Kenny whimpered.

He smacked his lips, "They give it to patients before surgery to get them calmed down for a sedative and make it so they can't remember the operation."

"Oh _god_ ," Kenny put his hands over his face, Stan biting his lip and rubbing his back as comfortingly as he could muster.

"Hey, don't they use that on Death Row, too?" Yates asked suddenly.

Murphy nodded. "Yeah actually! You see, boys, now this is interesting. They drug them with that _first_ so they don't feel-"

"STOP!" Stan shouted, trying to calm the now-hyperventilating blonde down. "Jesus fucking _Christ,_ don't tell us that! Tell us what happened!" he demanded.

Yates shrugged, grabbing a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it up, taking a long drag and exhaling it towards the boys. "From what we can tell, if our theory on his leaving isn't true..." he exchanged a bit of a glance with Murphy, "someone assaulted him, tied him to the cabinets, and drugged him before taking him," he said casually.

"Does he have any enemies?" Murphy asked, pulling out a notebook and glancing between the two of them. "Anyone that would want him hurt?"

"Cartman?" Stan winced.

Kenny froze, looking up out of his hands and over to the noirette. "Not Cartman," he whispered. "Cartman would've made a production out of it...It was _Craig_ ," he hissed.

Stan's eyes widened with clarity, "Oh **shit**."

"FUCK, IT WAS FUCKING CRAIG TUCKER!" Kenny shouted at Murphy, grasping at his hair. "You have to get to his house _now!"_

"And why would this Mr. Tucker want to harm him?" Yates asked suspiciously.

"I don't know and I don't _care_ but we have to go there **now**!" he demanded. "He lives out in the middle of nowhere! Oh _god_ , Kyle could be buried in the woods!" he screamed, shaking his head frantically as Stan's jaw trembled.

The noirette looked at them, "We have to go. Right _now_ ," he reemphasized.

The men glanced at each other before looking back at them. "Boys, if he doesn't want us on his property, we can't make him let us in without a warrant."

They stared at him in shock, "A WARRANT?!" Kenny repeated in a scream. "By the time that's done, Kyle could be fucking _dead_ and you want a warrant?!"

"Hey! We do things by the book, Buddy," Yates reprimanded. "You have to file a case against him, then we'll-"

"I'M FUCKING GOING WHETHER YOU ARE OR NOT!" Kenny sneered, grabbing his keys out of his pocket and heading for his truck. A strong hand wrapped around his arm and Yates whipped him around, the both of them scowling at each other.

"You do that without our permission, and we will arrest you, Mr. McCormick."

"Then fucking follow me," he hissed through his teeth. "He's the _only_ person who would've done this to him! And I'm not going to fucking sit around twiddling my fucking thumbs while that fuck has him drugged up and kidnapped!"

Murphy sighed, "Do you have any evidence that it was him?"

"Kyle's been feeling off about him for a while now," Stan elaborated. "And he kept giving him this dangerous vibe."

"We don't do investigations on intuition," Yates scoffed.

"YOU ONCE THOUGHT HE WAS FUCKING PSYCHIC AND LET HIM SOLVE A CASE FOR YOU!" Stan screamed, finally hitting the end of his own patience. "Don't fucking feed us that bullshit, we _know_ who did it! Let us take you there and fucking prove it before Kyle's fucking killed!"

"I don't appreciate your tone," he said lowly, throwing his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out.

The man beside him twisted his lips, "We can see if Mr. Tucker will let us search the premises. If he doesn't, then it's up to the courts to let us in."

Kenny snarled, "Fuck the courts. I'm getting Kyle back," he snapped, turning on his heel, grabbing Stan and yanking him along the way to his truck. "Follow me!" he called behind him. The officers sighed, heading to their squad car and switching on the lights, watching the boys clamber into Kenny's truck.

"I'm thinkin' this Kyle kid ran off with his _real_ butt buddy. Didn't want Blondie there to feel abandoned, so he set the scene to make a clear getaway with his sugar daddy." Yates muttered.

Murphy bit his lip a bit in thought, "I dunno, the house looked pretty steady and happy to me, Sir. Broflovski left his phone, his wallet, his car, _everything._ He left the stove and sink on. They didn't have any insurance on the house, so it doesn't seem like it was intentional for any kind of profit."

"Maybe he just wanted to make McCormick suffer," he scoffed dismissively, following as Kenny's truck sped away down the street towards the outskirts of town. "We've seen that before. Wife decides to leave her husband, tired of abuse, and sets the damn place on fire so he's distracted enough with that for her to make a clean getaway."

He sighed, "How many abusers care this much about the victim?"

"A damn good actor, that's who," he said lowly. "Betcha that's all this is. Hell, how do we know _he_ didn't do away with Broflovski? Got tired of him not cleanin' the house to his specifications and finally decided to kill him? Sounds like that's all the kid did on Mondays anyway if McCormick's story is true."

"What kind of abuser to that degree lets them work or have so many friends and connections?" he asked softly. "You saw all the pictures around the house, and Broflovski had called his mother earlier that day."

"Well, what kind of abductor cares enough to take his victim's insulin, Murphy?" he challenged sharply.

The man looked at him and took a deep breath as Yates made a sharp turn following the speeding blonde. "I don't know, Sir," he murmured, glancing between his notes and the back of the floored pick up. "But I wouldn't want to meet him."


	13. Chapter 13

It was easy enough to tell when his company was approaching, even without Lila beginning to bark from the side of the house. Craig turned and smirked, slowly walking out of the barn and redoing the locks, clicking his tongue for the Collie to follow him. He led them both back into the house through the kitchen, closing the door and running through his battle plans. He casually ripped off his work gloves and tossed them onto the table, running a hand through his hair. He sighed tiredly. This was just taking almost too much work. Almost.

Lila started yelping as a fist angrily bashed against his front door. The noirette shed his victorious smile, plastering his apathy like a photograph across his face as he slowly made way towards his assaulted barrier. He took his sweet time opening it, finding the furious blue eyes of Kenny and Stan.

"Can I help you?" he asked cooly, crossing his arms and leaning against the frame. He looked past them to see two officers getting out of their squad car, keeping his amusement to himself.

"Where is he?!" Kenny spat.

"Who?" he quirked his brow.

Kenny snarled, grabbing his sweatshirt and yanking him forward, shaking him. "Kyle!" he screamed. "Give him back and I won't fucking kill you! I'll rip off your fucking balls and make you eat them, but you'll fucking live."

Craig scoffed, shoving the blonde off of him and dusting off his shirt, looking beside him at a very happy Lila at the influx of new people and smells. "I haven't seen Broflovski since this afternoon," he said cooly.

"THAT PROVES IT! ARREST HIM!" Kenny demanded the cops, pointing at the stone-faced boy accusingly.

Yates rolled his eyes. "Step back, Mr. McCormick and let the _professionals_ handle this."

"We will when they get here," Stan muttered under his breath, grabbing the furiously stewing Kenny and moving him to the side, allowing the officers to step forward.

"Mr. Tucker, when did you last see Mr. Broflovski?"

He shrugged, flicking some dust off his sleeve. "It was about 3:30," he said smoothly.

"And why were you meeting with him?" Murphy asked, scribbling in his notebook.

"We said we were going to hang out, so I decided to go see him since I was off work," he said in boredom. "Not much of a thriller for your report." He looked between the four of them, letting his eyes settle on Kenny. His stomach leapt with glee. He looked _destroyed_. The life seemed almost sucked out of him sans that furious anger bursting through his eyes at what the three childhood friends _all_ knew. Too bad Craig wasn't about to let the two of them know how right on the money they were. "Why? What happened to Broflovski?"

"You fucking _abducted him_ ," Stan seethed.

"Mr..." Yates paused, looking at him expectantly.

"Marsh," he muttered.

"Marsh," he repeated, "Shut the fuck up." He turned back to Craig. "We believe that someone has taken Mr. Broflovski."

Craig shrugged, "Or he left. He mentioned something about being done with the shit he was going through."

"Oh?" the sergeant's eyes sparked with a smug hope. "And what did he say?"

Craig slowly turned back to the blonde, pointing at him listlessly. "That McCormick was treating him like shit."

Kenny's jaw dropped and his eye twitched. "YOU FUCKING LIAR!" he screamed.

"Mr. McCormick, hold your tongue," Yates demanded. "Just what did Mr. Broflovski say?"

He smacked his lips, "That he was tired of being treated like McCormick's housewife," he lied casually, scratching behind Lila's ear.

"Was there anything unusual about his appearance?" Murphy urged. "Any markings or anything?"

He looked up thoughtfully, "Come to think of it, yeah," he nodded. "He had weird scrapes on his wrists," he pointed to his own along the side. "I asked him if he cut himself and he told me not to worry about it..." he shrugged again. "Didn't question it any further."

"Where in the home did you go?" Yates asked, glancing at Murphy's notes as the boy talked.

"Living room and garage," he said casually. He looked at Kenny, "had to borrow some bungee cables for an entertainment cabinet I'm getting. Broflovski said you wouldn't mind."

Kenny was teetering on madness, only Stan's shaking grasp holding him back from getting himself thrown into jail on assault charges. "Where. Is. He?" he demanded curtly. "I _know_ it was you, and your fucking _bullshit_ ain't foolin' anyone!"

Yates looked at the blonde suspiciously, "You have an _awfully_ short temper, don't you, Mr. McCormick?"

"When my fucking boyfriend is being fucking held against his will, yes, I do!" he spat. He pointed back towards the lingering noirette. "Craig is fucking _lying_ to you! He has Kyle stashed away and is just trying to get me locked up because he _knows_ that I know!" he shouted.

"Calm down, or you're going in the squad car," Murphy warned.

Stan growled, "Kenny would _never_ hurt Kyle!" he insisted angrily and gestured to himself. "I'm Kyle's best fucking friend, he tells me _everything_. And he is _far_ from being tired of Ken!" he snapped at Craig.

"Let us in and let us look around if you're so fucking _innocent_ ," Kenny seethed through his teeth at Craig's empty expression.

He looked at the group and shrugged casually. "Thought it was within my rights to deny a search without any probable cause."

"It is," Yates agreed.

"Well, I would deny you, but that'd only make McCormick over there fucking drive his truck through my wall," he rolled his eyes. "Go fucking ahead," he stepped aside and gestured in. "Don't fucking mess my stuff up though," he warned with a raised brow.

"We'll keep it subtle," Murphy nodded, stepping past him behind Yates.

Craig watched them before turning back to the two glaring at him furiously. "I _said_ you can look around," he rolled his eyes.

"Let us in the barn," Kenny growled. "You wouldn't keep him in your house. Not enough places to hide him," he hissed.

Craig scoffed and shook his head before walking outside. He shooed Lila into the house and closed the door behind him firmly. "Fine," he said curtly. He led the both of them over towards the barn door, hiding a sly smirk creeping up his lips as he undid the entire system in a nearly flawless dance of twists and turns. He got it undone and Kenny grabbed him, shoving him out of the way and throwing the barn door open, rushing inside with Stan.

"Ky?!" Kenny called desperately, eyes landing on the chain attached to the support pole. He noted the large cage, strips of canvas running through the bars and bolted into the cement ground. "What the _fuck_ is this?!"

"For Lila," Craig answered smoothly, leaning against the wall inside the space and licking over his teeth. "The chain used to be there for my grandpa's old doberman. Fucker was violent so he was kept in the barn. Kept anyone from fucking with the horses."

Stan narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "Why is the cage bolted down?"

"Because, Valefor was a hyperactive shithead," he scoffed, brushing his bangs out of his face. "Kept tipping the cage and hurting himself. Gramps wouldn't keep him chained all night in case he choked, so he slept in the crate."

"Uh huh," he muttered with a scoff. He and Kenny both split apart, searching around the area for any sign of the missing redhead. Stan scrambled up the ladder into the hayloft, tossing handfuls of straw around and feeling for a body underneath the heavy layer. "Kyle?" he begged, digging around frantically. "Kyle, come on, say something!"

"KY!" Kenny shouted, past panic and into full-on rage. He just wanted Kyle back. He'd skin Tucker alive if he had to, but he wasn't leaving without his fucking boyfriend back with him. "Kyle, Babe, where are you?!" he shouted.

Craig rolled his eyes, Kenny's voice echoing obnoxiously around the barn. He kept his eyes on the blonde, watching as he checked every stall, kicking over his tools. "I said don't mess with my shit, McCormick," he frowned.

Kenny scowled, "And I said don't fuck around with Kyle," he hissed. "Looks like we're both shitty listeners, aren't we?"

"You know, you're wasting your time," he informed him cooly. "Broflovski's probably already out of the state by now and starting over with someone else."

The blonde bared his teeth, tossing down Craig's power drill and tromping back over to him. "You listen to me, you _fuck_ ," he hissed, getting up in his face. "I know Kyle a lot better than you do. And when he comes to, _I'm_ gonna be the _least_ of your worries." Craig raised his brow as the boy rambled on. "How'd ya do it, huh?" he snapped. "Where'd you get the fuckin' drugs, Tucker?!"

"What drugs?" he blinked innocently.

"You _know_ what drugs, you sick fuck!" he pushed him against the wall, Craig holding perfectly still, meeting Kenny's death glare point for point. "What did he ever do to you?" he demanded. "He wanted to be your fucking friend, you fucking asshole!" Craig watched in interest as Kenny's lip began to tremble. "Just give him _back_ ," he pleaded, voice losing its poison for just a moment, letting the chill of his desperation seep through the musty barn air.

"I don't _have him_ ," he repeated, shoving Kenny off and scoffing. "You're probably the only person in the world who finds him the _least_ bit appealing," he echoed himself, watching a spark of life flashing through Kenny's stare once more. "What the fuck would _I_ want with your little fucktoy?"

Kenny blanched before his face turned to a vicious scowl, rearing back and slamming a fist against Craig's cheek. "WHERE IS HE?!" he demanded, watching as Craig tumbled to the floor.

"Mr. McCormick, hands behind your back!" Yates' voice appeared from the open door. Craig smirked slyly to himself as he got back onto wobbling feet.

Kenny blinked at the officer in shock. "He fucking-"

"I heard what he said, hands behind your back!" he demanded. "You're waiting in the car until we're done here."

Stan hopped down from the loft. "You can't! We're still looking for-"

"We can't find _anything_ that shows that Mr. Tucker has any reason to be prosecuted," the man frowned. "Did _you_ find anything?"

"Not yet, but we're just star-" he watched in horror as Murphy grabbed Kenny's arms and cuffed them behind his back.

He grasped the back of Kenny's neck, starting to lead him out, "Come on, Mr. McCormick, you can tell us more at the station."

Kenny's eyes widened in clarified terror, "You can't do this!" he begged. "He'll kill him! He'll fucking kill him!"

Yates ignored him, looking at Craig tiredly. "Are you going to want to follow through with assault charges?"

He considered for a brief moment before shaking his head. The less time involved with McCormick the better. "No. But I'd like a restraining order," he said casually, eyes sliding over venomously to Stan's furious gaze. "For _both_ of these distrusting assholes."

"You'll have to go get the paperwork from the courthouse," he said. "But yes, it may be for the best," he eyed Stan shadily.

Stan stared at the officer in shock. "HE KIDNAPPED KY-"

"There's no evidence of that," Yates snapped, grasping his arm and shoving him towards the door. "Out, Mr. Marsh, or you're going back in cuffs, too," he warned.

Stan looked at him before turning back to Craig with dangerous eyes. "Every scratch you put on him is a body part we take off of _you_ ," he threatened, turning and stomping out of the barn.

Yates sighed and shook his head, "I suggest you get your paperwork as soon as possible," he advised. "Sorry for the disruption, Mr. Tucker."

"It's fine," he shrugged. "Anything else I can help with, just let me know."

"Thank you, you have a nice night now," he nodded, turning and heading out behind the others. Murphy tossed Stan Kenny's truck keys, Craig biting his lip to conceal a wicked grin at Kenny screaming bloody murder at him and desperately pleading for Kyle's life from the back of the squad car. He watched as Stan turned the truck around and headed back down the hill, Yates and Murphy following behind. He licked his lips, watching until they were well out of sight under the trees and letting out a dark chuckle.

Up in the rafters above his loft, Kyle's clouded insulin glimmered brightly in its bottle by the sunlight beaming through the skylight, a glittering emerald collar resting beside of it; Both waiting for their owner. And a redhead, slowly trying to find himself back into the conscious world, remained silent and numbed as he sat with his knees folded up against his chest, stowed away from the world, bound in the confines of the water tank.


	14. Chapter 14

He had to have been hit by a car. Correction: A semi. And all twenty-two wheels had rolled over him before backing up and giving him another go around.

Kyle shifted uncomfortably, senses beginning to flicker back to life. His legs were freezing, almost painfully so. He groaned from the back of his raspy throat, brows furrowing from an impending migraine as he tried to move himself to sit up on what seemed to be the fucking ground. His heart stopped for a moment as he noticed his wrists were bound behind his back, a thin, rigid wrapping digging straight into his skin.

His brain tried to catch him up to his situation, wondering if he'd fallen asleep in the midst of a romp with Kenny and the blonde had left him tied up. Logic followed soon after. Kenny would _never_ leave him like this, he was way too much of a stickler of preventing Kyle from hurting himself like an idiot.

A hiss slipped between his teeth as he forced himself up, spreading his knees on the ground beneath him and slowly raising himself upright. He shook his head, gradually prying open an eye. Bleary vision revealed nothing but a wall and he cocked his head just slightly. He scrunched his eyes shut again before forcing them to open, both of them taking a moment to adjust to a small light beaming in front of him. Green was glazed over, the color numbed as it was swathed in a musty coating of confusion and residual effects of coming down from his drugged-out stupor.

Kyle raised his brow as sight crept back to him, finding himself in a large, empty building. He sniffed a few time, scrunching his nose at the unmistakably sweet smell of hay. "What the fuck?" he whispered. He glanced next to him, seeing a large cage, growing more and more confused by the second. He grunted, trying to move forward on his knees before a tightening around his throat pulled him back. He looked behind him, eyes widening as they found a chain attached to a large pole leading back up to his neck.

It all hit at once, Kyle's body going rigid as though dropped into a tub of ice: _Craig._

His throat clenched, teeth clattering against one another as a barrage of memories flooded over his weary mind. All thrown together in a hastily collaborated mess, a gun, a pinch in his arm, something about Kenny... He whimpered, glancing down to his legs and blinking as he found himself without his jeans. " _Fuck_ ," he bit his lip, looking at the single lantern on the floor a good twenty feet away from him, casting an eerie glow around his holding. He didn't know exactly where he was, but he could only surmise that it _had_ to be Craig's barn. He didn't let any of them in it while they were moving him in...

Kyle shut his eyes, trying to break his wrists apart. "Come on," he whined. He glanced up at the light beaming from the skylight above and his heart dropped at the clear cascading glow of the moon shining over him. He'd been here all day. Why hadn't Kenny found him? He _had_ to know it was Craig, right?

He shook around in vain, trying to pry himself free, wincing at metal digging against his throat. His bare legs scraped against the dirt and concrete, revitalizing senses starting to kick him into an adrenaline-fueled frenzy. He had to get out. He fucking _had_ to.

He flinched at the sound of heavy metal outside, shooting his head towards the door, his breath turning shallow. He stared with wide eyes as the barrier was pushed open, a very happily smug Craig eerily silhouetted against the night sky. "Well, look who's up," he purred.

"Let me out!" Kyle shouted, throat convulsing from dryness and sending him into a light coughing fit. He groaned, looking to see Craig stepping into the barn and kicking the door shut behind him, stone irises scanning over Kyle hungrily. He knew this moment would be wonderful, but he didn't think the mere _image_ of Kyle in this state would have him nearly reeling in a symphony of euphoria. The boy stepped towards the redhead and Kyle jerked back, Craig's face shadowed evilly in the lantern lighting. "What do you want?!" he demanded.

Craig shrugged casually, "What I earned."

Kyle narrowed his eyes, "The _fuck_ are you talking about?"

The noirette grinned slyly, walking over and kneeling down in front of the boy. Kyle scrambled back on his knees, backing himself into the support beam. He yelped quietly as Craig cornered him in, staring down on his trapped form with a ravenous appetite; The deer in his snare, sight locked as he stared down his prized trophy.

"What did I do to you?" Kyle broke the tensive silence, eyes fluttering between nervousness and trying desperately to beat down the remainder of the drugs still trying to lull him down.

A sharp intake of breath breeched through his teeth as Craig cupped his chin, forcing his head further up. The boy's eyes slid to the green collar situated so beautifully around his slender throat, a gorgeous compliment to the ginger's complexion; Just as he envisioned it would be. "You need to answer something for _me_ first," he said simply.

Kyle's brows furrowed, a familiar anger sparking within under the influence of sedation. "You fucking drug me, kidnap me, and tie me up and _you_ want answers?!" he demanded. "You fucking sick _freak_ I'll fucking kill you!"

Craig scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Anyway. Now that your little hissy fit is over, tell me about when we were eighteen," he said slowly.

Kyle stared at him in bewilderment. Craig chained him up for a fucking trip down memory lane?! "What are you _talking_ about?" he demanded.

"What very important factor in your life happened when we were eighteen?" he asked dryly.

Kyle narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Kenny and I got together."

"Right," he nodded curtly, tipping Kyle's chin in different angles, licking his lips at the color splashing over his cheeks, heavy shadows contouring the already slender profile. Kyle just continued to stare at him and let him move his head around, knowing well enough he was disadvantaged and couldn't do much in his position. Besides, his curiosity was beginning to overshadow the terror if by only a smidgeon.

"What does that have to do with-"

"He didn't _deserve_ it," Craig snapped coldly, the admiration on his face dropping immediately along with all color in Kyle's. "He didn't _earn_ it," he hissed.

Kyle stared at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. "So...you don't...have a thing for Kenny..." he said slowly, that fear starting to become reborn within the deepest confines of his gut.

"Observant," he rolled his eyes.

"When...I-I" he stammered, unable to straighten any facts out. He was too groggy, too _scared._

"Eighth grade," Craig muttered, grabbing a lock of Kyle's mussed hair and rubbing it between his fingers. " _Long_ before McCormick decided he wanted you just for your ass."

He bared his teeth, shaking at the accusation. "He's _not_ with me just for my ass, Tucker!" he spat.

"Please," he scoffed. "We all know what he's like."

"Funny how _all_ of you fucking say that when you don't know _shit_ ," he snarled.

"Oh?" he questioned, leaning in closer towards Kyle's face, watching amusedly as he smacked his skull back against the pole trying to escape the vicinity, cursing to himself and trying to shake off the throbbing. "How long before you let him fuck you then?"

Kyle's cheeks burst with color, his eyes following suit. "That is _not_ your busi-"

"That soon, hm?" he smirked knowingly. "Tell me, how long did you think that the only way you could keep him is if you kept putting out? I lost track after the first month," he said dryly.

The Jew's eyes widened. "What are you-"

"Your conversations with Marsh," he answered simply, twisting a red tendril around his finger.

Kyle gulped. "Stan wouldn't tell you that," he whispered.

"He didn't have to. I _heard_ them."

Kyle's jaw dropped in the slightest. Those talks were never in public. They were on the phone. At night. _In his room._ "H-how did you-"

"You shouldn't leave your window open at night, it's no _wonder_ you got sick so often," he said nonchalantly, watching in glee as Kyle's face fell into a violated horror. "Oh, right, you left it open for McCormick in case he decided he needed to stick it to you at 3 in the morning, right?"

"You sick fucking stalker!" he screamed, entire body quaking.

He shrugged, "So, when did that stop?" he asked again. Kyle was silent before Craig shook him violently, smashing him back against the pole. The redhead watched in terror at Craig's subdued expression turning on a dime; A warning.

"When he told me he loved me," he whispered. "He said it first."

Craig snorted, hiding the anger at the word for a moment, "And you think it wasn't just for your ass?"

"He's not like that," he said quietly, trying to figure out his options. Unfortunately, they were looking few and far between for now unless the drugs gave him fucking superpowers. His face fell into a scowl, "Even if he was, he wouldn't fucking drug me and steal me!" he shouted.

"I _earned_ you," he bit, clutching his chin just a tad tighter.

"By _what_?!" he challenged. "I thought you fucking hated me and you think I'm supposed to just fucking fall for you because you tie me to a fucking pole?!"

Craig smirked darkly and Kyle's stomach lurched but kept his fury plastered across his face. "You don't need to 'fall for me'," he quoted. "You just need to stay where you belong," he stroked his chin lightly with his thumb, licking his lips hungrily.

Kyle shuddered, "I'm _not_ staying here. Kenny will find me and your ass is going to fucking jail, Tucker!"

"Hard to do when McCormick _himself_ is in jail right now," he grinned as Kyle's face fell in devastation. "For the possible murder of his loving boyfriend."

"YOU FUCK!" he screamed, trying to get to his feet. The chain snared him again and choked him, bringing him back onto the ground in a wheezing heap. His eyes beaded with tears. "They'll figure you out," he snapped brokenly.

"The cops were already _here_ ," he said smugly. "Looked for you, couldn't find any trace of you, and then McCormick decided to punch me and got himself cuffed. They're going to be _far_ too busy focusing on the redneck boyfriend with the short temper to bother coming back here for a good, long time," he raised his brow superiorly.

Kyle's breath caught in his throat, staring at him with wide eyes. Craig shuddered at the marred mess of fear and rage clashing against each other in the dimmed light around them. "Kenny's never _touched_ me," he said bitterly. "They'll know that."

"Hm," he mused. "Hard for a 'dead' man to give his testimony, isn't it?" he quirked a questioning brow.

"You can't keep me forever, Tucker," he sneered. "Without a body they're going to look for me, and you're the only person who was at the house with me! Doesn't take a genius to put it all together!"

"Doesn't take a genius to get onto the South Park Police Force either," he smirked. "Considering how _easily_ they bought me telling them about how tired you were of McCormick treating you so 'badly'," he feigned a pout. "And those nasty little marks on your wrists that I 'found' when I went to see you," he purred.

Kyle's jaw trembled in Craig's thick fingers. This was bad. This was so _bad_.

Craig drug a thumb over his lips, watching the full, pink skin bounce at his touch and letting out a shuddery breath, body in a complete stir as every emotion imaginable seemed to wrack through Kyle's captive form. He was _beautiful_. And now he had his time. He had every moment in the world to watch his prize. He leaned forward, Kyle crying out softly as he leaned his cheek against his hair, taking a long breath of spice and nervous sweat leaking from the redhead. He wandered in transcendental bliss for a moment before hissing and falling to the side as Kyle's head backed up and slammed against his jaw. He sat up and grabbed at his chin, looking to see Kyle glaring at him with a deadly spark.

"You get away from me," he hissed. "Let me go and run the _fuck_ out of town before I let Kenny on you like a fucking bloodhound."

He chuckled, brushing some lost spit from his lip and smirking at the redhead. "You're not going anywhere," he promised. Kyle watched him nervously as he slowly opened the cage next to him, grey eyes gleaming with an uncharacteristic excitement that made his stomach curl. "I worked too _long_ to let you go now," he said firmly, kneeling down next to him and grabbing his collar, ripping it back. Kyle's eyes bulged as he choked lightly, struggling to fight out of his grip. Craig reached into his pocket, tearing out his key for the small lock chaining him to the pole and letting it slide in. He quickly tore the chain out of the hold and refastened the collar, getting to his feet and pulling Kyle with him. The redhead choked, knees struggling to keep up with him and fight all the same, not sure of what option was the better. His answer came as he was pulled towards the cage, his eyes widening in a horrified realization.

"NO!" he screamed in a rasp, shoulders shaking violently as he tried to undo his wrists.

Craig shook his head, "Bad dog," he said firmly. Kyle snarled, tears leaking down his cheeks as Craig bent back down, shoving him into the cage. Kyle slammed against the bars, trying to hurry back around as he heard Craig latching it shut. He froze as a large padlock slipped between the bars of the door and the cage itself, whimpering under his breath. He tried to sit up, yowling as he slammed his head against the heavy metal. He yelped as Craig stepped around behind and reached his fingers into the cage, grasping the zip ties around his wrists and yanking him back. With a quick swipe of his folding knife, he sliced through the plastic and Kyle fell back forward onto the blankets under him, looking up at his captor with panicked eyes.

"Please, don't," he breathed out. Craig merely smiled and turned, beginning to walk out of the barn. "GET BACK HERE!" Kyle finally broke in a tear-filled scream, fingers clasping around the cold metal. "LET ME GO, CRAIG!"

The noirette chuckled. "You learn to be a good boy and maybe you'll be allowed to sleep in the house. Until then, welcome home," he said simply. He walked out of the barn and Kyle watched in terror as the heavy door slammed shut, barely hearing the metal of the locks latching once again. He started screaming nonsense, gripping and tearing at his hair in a furious rage. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks, ugly sobs breaking through his throat as he continued to yell for Craig to let him out, for Kenny to save him, for _something_ to get him the hell out of dodge. His eyes widened at a loud whirring noise in the background and he slumped defeatedly. The fucking generator. No one could hear him over that goddamn thing. Craig had tested it when they were moving him in, having Token, Clyde, and Butters screaming at the top of their lungs to see if anyone could hear. ' _To see if it'll scare animals,_ ' he'd said. ' _I don't want them terrified of the place_ '.

Kyle bit his lip, fingers clutching around the soft blankets under him and continuing to cry. He was so _stupid_. He should've known better. He should've caught on sooner than he did. What the hell did Craig even _want_ with him?

He paused as an orange glimmer caught his bleary eyes. He genially reached up, grabbing the pristine tag dangling innocently on the chain around his throat on the dead link. He tilted his chin down and twisted it, eyes narrowing as he tried to make it out through his blurring sight. He let out a strangled gasp as his name stared back at him, glittering in the soft glow surrounding him. He dropped his hand, his body collapsing onto the cage floor and curling up into itself, hiding his face in his arms as he sobbed loudly.

He was wrong, this wasn't going to be his execution. It was worse.


	15. Chapter 15

Stepping into his kitchen as 10 am rolled around, Craig couldn't help but smile to himself. He stretched, his spine popping as he sighed, letting his shoulders and neck roll as he put himself back on the ground. Lila bounded past him and made way for her food bowl, sitting and staring at Craig expectantly. He snorted. So little time and her need for routine was already so deeply implanted that she couldn't imagine it any other way. He smirked as he reached into the bag of food sitting beside the door and scooped out a cupful, dumping it into the holder and watching her attack it eagerly. He could only hope that _others_ were so inherently good at picking up on his routine.

He slowly made way to his coffee pot, mindlessly preparing the grounds and slamming the percolator shut, pressing buttons with lazy fingers. He rubbed his eyes, still plagued with drowsiness. He'd been over stimulated last night, far too excited at the prospects of what today could bring. He'd lied awake staring at his ceiling, practically twitching with the need to go outside and see what was waiting for him. But no, Kyle had to _learn_ that he was going to be alone sometimes, that he was going to have to figure out that screaming and crying wasn't going to get him the attention he craved. Craig smirked, watching the coffee beginning to drip into the pot in amber splashes. Kyle was smart, he'd figure it out soon enough.

He leaned against the counter, grabbing his phone from his hoodie pocket and glancing at the screen, seeing a message from Butters asking if he needed anything done at the store. Craig smirked. Apparently he hadn't heard the news of poor Kyle as of yet, otherwise he would've called off because his fragile emotions couldn't handle information like that with ease. He shot a message back, telling him all was fine, just to go about the day per usual. It'd costed him his Saturday, but letting himself have the day off today was just beyond necessary. After all, he had a trip to make to the courthouse, and a new puppy to begin acclimating to his new home.

The noirette looked back as his coffeepot timer went off, twisting and grabbing himself two mugs, pouring each with a steady hand. He tongued over his lips mindlessly, grabbing cream and dousing each cup, watching the billowing swirling of color dancing so flowingly with glittering eyes. Two spoonfuls of sugar for himself, only one for Kyle. He didn't want him _too_ excitable. Not yet. Lila began whining as he stirred the mugs, the clanging of his spoon against the ceramic dinging harmoniously in the empty room. "Just a second, Lila," he said blankly, smacking his lips and casually tossing the spoon into the sink, letting it scrape along the metal and chuckling. So many metallic sounds this past week, it was almost just natural at this point.

He tucked one mug into his arm and the other by the handle, turning and opening the kitchen door, letting the dog burst out past him and head into the yard, sniffing around frantically. Craig left her to her business, glancing up at the sky as he turned to head towards the barn. The light crunching of a thin layer of snow crinkled under his thick slippers, a path appearing behind him. He sighed. He'd have to find a way to cover that up later. Have Lila run through it a few times perhaps. He shook his head, slowly and casually undoing the locks on his door, balancing the two cups in his left arm as he worked. The anticipation was killing him, but he forced himself to remain steady. He had to enjoy this after all, this was his first full day and it needed to be savored.

He finally undid the last of the latches and pulled the door open, daylight bursting into the room. His eyes landed on the cage, smirking at a bundle of blankets hidden in the confines of the metal. He looked back to check on Lila who was lying on the porch obediently, waiting for Craig to be done to come back to let her in. Such a good dog. Kyle could learn a thing or two from the Collie.

The noirette stepped inside, leaving the door open just a smidgeon to be able to hear should Lila warn him of unexpected visitors. He slowly, purposefully made his way into the room, biting his lip in excitement as he edged ever closer. He knelt down in front of the cage, smiling fondly as he found Kyle curled up and shivering in the thick blankets, eyes shut and his lip trembling. Large bags hid under his eyes, stark red tear trails breaking down his cheeks, visible even through the chilled skin tone. He looked almost like a child playing hide and seek, looking like a mummy underneath all of the covering. Adorable.

Craig licked his lips, slowly setting the coffee down on the floor beside him and grabbing the chain from behind, pulling it to rest over his leg. "Wake up, Broflovski," he said softly, watching as Kyle's bloodshot eyes shot open in fear. The redhead curled into himself, baring his teeth but cowering all the same. He was cold and exhausted, he was so confused and just all-around scared of what was to come. He just wanted to go home to Kenny and sleep this off in their bed. Craig stared at him like a sideshow attraction, body nearly squirming at the sight. He'd never seen Kyle look so defeated and unsure of himself. It was exhilarating. "And how are you this morning?" he asked casually.

Fear was replaced with anger, a soft growl coming from the confines of the blankets that Kyle refused to relinquish. A t-shirt, boxers, and socks could only do so much to help him preserve body heat, and the crisp October air was doing nothing to aid him along. He watched every move cautiously as Craig reached beside him, grabbing a green mug and displaying it for him. "Cinnamon roast," he said casually, watching Kyle's face falling worriedly. "Your _favorite_ ," he added, eyeing the subtle flinch that the redhead exhibited. "Two tablespoons of cream and one spoonful of sugar," he continued as Kyle curled up tighter into his ball.

"You freak," Kyle whispered, voice cracking lightly, eyes locking on the warm steam billowing from the cup. It looked so tantalizing, so _welcoming_ compared to the pure freeze his body was suffering through.

"I just want you to be happy," he said plainly, fingernail tapping lightly on the ceramic.

Kyle nearly gagged at his tone and the condescending look in his eyes. "Then let me go home," he begged. "I won't press charges, I won't fucking say anything," he offered. "I'll go home, and me and Kenny will just fucking _move_."

"Can't risk that," he scoffed. "I'm not letting you make it even more difficult for me to find you," he said, grabbing his own mug and taking a long, satisfying sip. He tongued some of the savory warmth from his lips, looking at Kyle's nauseous form and smirking. "Now. I bet you're cold, aren't you?"

Kyle merely clutched around his blankets tighter, his body aching from its cramped positioning and exposure to the cold too much to do much else.

"And I'm betting you would _love_ to have some of this, wouldn't you?" Craig held up Kyle's mug tauntingly. Kyle's parched throat and numbed lips couldn't exactly argue. Craig took his silence as his go-ahead, "Then here's what's going to happen:" he started plainly. "You're going to back up to the end of _your_ cage," he emphasized just to watch the sizable shudder wrack under the blankets. "You're going to stay still in the back while I unlock it and put in your mug," he continued. "And only when I re-lock it and say you can drink can you take it. Do you understand?"

"Or what?" he spat.

"Or I leave you here in the cold with _nothing_ to help you because I'll chain you up out here and take your blankets," he said lowly. Kyle blinked, teeth clattering almost obnoxiously.

He sniffled, "I'd die," he reminded him. "Pretty sure your freak plans go to shit if I die."

Craig smirked, "I won't let you die, Broflovski. I'd sit right here and just wait for you to go unconscious," he said, as plainly as if he were describing a trip to pick up a gallon of milk. Kyle blinked in terror as he took another sip of coffee, "I'd make sure you'd live, but you have to learn the punishments for not listening to me," he quirked his brow.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he whispered in disbelief, sitting up slowly and making sure every inch of his body remained wrapped in his protection. "I'm a _person._ You can't do this to me!" he protested.

"Looks to me like I'm doing so just fine," he grinned with a shrug. "Now. Your coffee's getting cold. Do you want it or do you want to pass out from dehydration?" he challenged. Kyle flickered his eyes between him and the steaming mug, swallowing a dry breath. _Shit_. He couldn't let himself go unconscious in this fuck's hands again. Who knew what else he had planned for him, and he'd have no chance if he was out cold.

"I want the coffee," he muttered bitterly. Warmth and caffeine was all he needed. It'd get him going enough to fight.

"Good boy," Craig cooed, Kyle clenching his teeth in fury at him. "You know what to do," he said expectantly.

Kyle took a deep breath through his nose. Pride just had to be swallowed right now. He could plan his out when he had some stimulation flowing again. Right now all he could focus on were his freezing limbs, and that wasn't going to get him anywhere. He kept the blankets clutched around him possessively, scooting himself back against the back end of the cage. He bit his lip, watching as Craig slid a key out of his right pocket and inserted it into the lock. He held himself back from leaping forward to attack him. He wasn't stupid. He couldn't get a clear shot out of the cage and would just leave himself vulnerable for attack as he tried to fight his way out of the metal holding. Green eyes studied Craig's movements, the purposeful solidarity of his actions, and he shuddered. He was so fucking _calm_ about having a fucking prisoner and it made Kyle's skin crawl. Craig opened the door just enough to slide in the mug before quickly slamming it back shut and beginning to redo the latch. Kyle began to inch forward, stopped as an "Ahp ahp ahp," left Craig's lips, his brow raised in warning. "Not until I say so," he said cooly.

Kyle snarled but drifted backwards once again, bristling angrily. Craig redid the lock and sighed, sitting down cross-legged in front of the bars and taking another sip of his drink. He let out a contented breath, looking to see Kyle staring at him in fury at his hesitation. "Good boy," he murmured again. "Go ahead."

Kyle's knees scrambled to bring him the few inches closer to the mug, frozen fingers hastily grabbing around the material and nearly burning at the touch. He brought the cup into his nest against his chest. Craig watched as Kyle buried his head into the blankets along with the mug, letting the steam blast against his face and restore some of the feeling to his reddened nose and cheeks. He smiled as he could make out the movement of Kyle taking a long sip under his hiding spot, a warming tingle rushing through the redhead and nearly transferring directly to his captor. He'd made Kyle so _happy_.

"Look at me," Craig ordered sharply. Green eyes peeked up through their covering, the rest of his face hidden, but his irises spelling out his feelings plainly enough in a mess of toxicity. "Don't you feel better?" he raised his brow amusedly.

Kyle scoffed, silently taking another sip in his wrapped positioning, the movement difficult, but beyond worth it as the warming sensation crawled through his aching body.

"Answer me," Craig said.

The Jew slowly rose his head out of the blanket, staring at him through the bars and narrowing his eyes. "What is it you want from me?" he demanded lowly. "I never did jack _shit_ to you and you're acting like I murdered your fucking family." Craig raised his brow before shrugging, moving to the side and leaning against the support pole, casually crossing his legs and taking another sip of coffee.

Kyle's eyes sparked with hope at a jingling sound outside the door before Craig called, "Come on in, Lila." Kyle's heart sank at the dog bounding inside. Lila sat next to Craig as he waved her over, staring at the redhead with a large, happy grin on her face. Craig slowly pet her head, eyes still locked on the baffled redhead. "You always cared about McCormick, didn't you?" Craig started seemingly out of left field. "After your little crush on Marsh fell through at least," he shrugged casually.

Kyle's face burst with warmth, almost welcoming the sensation before remembering just what it was he was dealing with. "Fuck you!" he hissed. "It was like two fucking weeks in seventh grade."

"Ninth," he corrected, making Kyle go rigid. "Two weeks or no, it was always one of those two idiots," he scoffed. "Moved right on when you realized you had no chance with Marsh to making goo-goo faces at McCormick like a goddamn attention slut," he rolled his eyes. "Idiot didn't even _know_ how you felt, but just kept letting you cling onto him like his whore."

Kyle growled, fingers tensing around his mug. "So I got a little touchy, so the fuck _what_?" he challenged.

Craig looked at him with blank, hollow eyes that made Kyle nearly back up, forcing himself to remain still and stare at him straight-on. "He didn't work to figure you out. He didn't _work_ to get the slightest bit of attention from you, did he? You just lied back and opened your legs for him like a two-bit prostitute." Kyle's face continued beaming red as he continued. "He didn't earn you," he echoed, taking another sip of his drink.

"He was always _nice_ to me," Kyle spat. "Unlike _you_ , who fucking stared at me and flipped me off and _ignored_ me whenever I was around!"

"Trust me, I never ignored you," he scoffed.

"No, apparently you stalked me," he bit. "Why didn't you just fucking say something instead of being a creepy piece of fucking shit?"

He looked at him angrily, "Because I'm not a blonde redneck, so you didn't _want_ to give the slightest bit of attention. No, you wanted to go for the poor hick instead of someone who _knew_ you."

"Kenny knows me better than anybody," he growled. "You watching me like a mental patient doesn't mean you know shit about me."

Craig smirked. "I know more than you seem to think. Does McCormick know how many times you jacked off to the thought of him?" he asked innocently. Kyle's coffee threatened to spew back through his throat out onto the cage floor, watching him with horrified eyes. "Does _he_ know how you practiced spreading your tight little ass for him just on the off chance he'd finally fuck you? Or how about the couple of guys you found from the internet that were willing to do so and you used them as 'practice'?" he questioned.

"Jesus fucking _Christ_ ," Kyle whimpered, body battling between a blazing fury and crushing humiliation. He backed into the far corner of his cage, staring at the noirette with a nearly deadened expression. He didn't know how to fight this. He didn't know what to even _begin_ to say. He felt so dirty, so fucking _used_ and _violated_. "Why?" he finally settled on, his voice a subdued whisper, trying so desperately to make sense of his actions.

He shrugged, "Got tired of jerking off to thoughts only," he said nonchalantly. Kyle's body froze over once again, heart lurching. It was falling into place with a horrible clarity.

He knew why he was here.

"You're not touching me," he said as firmly as he could manage, unable to help the slight tremor in his voice.

"You don't get a _choice_ anymore," he spat. "I gave you plenty of time to make it and you kept swooning for that idiot. I even befriended the fuck trying to get you to come around, but _no_. Instead you wanted to spend all your time bending over for him."

"I _love_ him," he said angrily. "You never fucking said anything! You can't blame yourfucking confusion on me!"

Craig huffed a sarcastic laugh. "Confusion? No. I know exactly what I want," he said simply, getting to his feet and Lila following suit. He stared down at the trapped redhead and let out a long breath. "You had four years to play with him. I'm taking _my_ time back."

"Craig," he swallowed down a mouthful of bile. "You can't keep me here," he said steadily. "I _will_ get out."

He smirked. "When I'm done with you, you won't _want_ to get out," he promised, turning on his heel and beginning to walk out of the barn. Kyle watched after him blankly, throat catching at the connotation. "I have to go out to town," Craig said nonchalantly. "I'll bring you food later."

"Craig, please," he breathed quietly, the noirette's body going into a stir at the pleading tone passing those lips. "Please don't do this to me. If you care about me, you _won't do this_ ," he emphasized, eyes glittering with tears.

He looked back at him and smirked. "You have nothing to worry about, Broflovski." He waited for Kyle's covered shoulders to sink slightly in relief. He chuckled, "I _always_ take good care of my pets."

Kyle's words caught in shock as Craig slammed the barn door between them, leaving the redhead huddled in his cage with his coffee losing its heat, and the noirette outside shuddering with the mental picture. He re-locked the door and hurried back into the house, ripping the button of his jeans apart before even crossing the threshold.


	16. Chapter 16

The bags under his eyes stood out like bruises, light blue shining in a musty glaze as he stared blankly at the wall in front of him. He was so tired, body just overwhelmingly racked with worry. He'd been in this fucking holding cell for two days. He needed to get out, get back to Craig and snap his neck so he could find Kyle. He slowly shut his eyes, fighting off another wave of tears threatening to spill down his face. He felt so lost, so fucking _small_. Most of all, he felt so stupid. So, _so_ stupid.

He'd let the bastard into his house. He'd let him look at, talk to, _plan about_ his boyfriend. Kenny knew better than anyone that he wasn't always the best judge of character, but he missed all the signs by a clear mile on this one. He just didn't know this time around it'd cost him and Kyle so goddamn dearly.

He looked up as the door swung open, Murphy nodding at him. "Stand and turn with your hands behind your back," he instructed. Kenny took a deep breath, stumbling off of his stiff cot and doing as told, feeling the metal snapping around his wrists, a chill running down his spine. Kyle had been in zip ties. Cutting off circulation, plastic ridges biting into his skin while he was trapped against their kitchen cabinets. He'd been fucking helpless.

And it was his fucking fault.

He let out a shaking breath as Murphy turned him, leading him down the hall past the other detainee cells who called out various insults to the officer. The both of them ignored the others, far too focused on the situation at hand. Murphy led him into the interrogation room, guiding him to a chair and sitting him down. He leaned down by him. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Coffee would be great," he rasped out exhaustively. Murphy nodded to another cop standing at the room in observation, the man going to fetch the requested drink. Murphy stared at the disheveled blonde and bit his lip.

"We have to keep you cuffed, Sergeant's orders." Kenny just nodded. "I'm going to uncuff one wrist, and you are to _slowly_ move them to your front, do you understand?"

"Yes," he whispered. The officer let his left cuff slide off, watching with eagle-sharp eyes as Kenny very genially moved his arms up and onto the table in front of him. Murphy grasped his left arm and slipped the metal back on, walking to the other side of the table and taking a seat. A knock on the frame came and Murphy didn't look, merely waving the person in as he stared at Kenny. A steaming styrofoam cup was placed in front of the blonde, the officer tossing packets of creamer and sugar on the table as well. "Thanks," Kenny murmured, slowly beginning to rip open packages and stir them blankly into his coffee with a small straw, eyes looking but not quite seeing.

"Thanks," Murphy nodded to the man. "Go on and close the door. The Sergeant will be here soon."

"Gotcha," the officer said, stealing a look at the blonde and back to Murphy, a silent conversation spawning in the fraction of a second before he turned and made his way back out of the room, shutting the door behind him slowly.

The man watched as Kenny took a small sip of his drink, wincing at the heat blistering along his tongue. "Mr. McCormick-"

"Kenny," the blonde interrupted, looking at him tiredly. "I'm Kenny."

Murphy nodded, "Okay. Kenny. I need you to be completely honest with me. I've requested to keep the Sergeant out for a bit since I know he seems to upset you."

He let out a breath through his nose and shrugged listlessly. "I don't like people implying that I'd hurt someone. Especially Ky..." he trailed off and his eyes dulled over again. It wasn't exactly easy to deny that this time around, he _was_ the reason he got hurt, even if he didn't pull the punches.

"Tell me about your relationship with Mr. Brof-" he stopped and cleared his throat. "Kyle. Tell me about you two."

The blonde looked at him sadly and shrugged again. "We've been going out since we were eighteen," he started. "Moved in together when we were twenty. Not really much special. We do our domestic shit and...and you know...just other relationship stuff," he whispered.

"How often did you two argue?"

"Rarely," he said quietly. "And it was always over stupid little stuff. Like I'd forget about a bill and buy something extra or he'd yell at me for no reason because he had a bad day and we'd just start fighting. But...like I said, it was pretty rare."

Murphy nodded, tapping a pencil beside him against his notepad. "Were these altercations ever physical?"

"Never," he snapped, backing off as Murphy gave him a bit of a warning look. He sighed, leaning his head back tiredly. "I'd _never_ hit Ky. _Ever_ ," he emphasized. "I _know_ what it's like being fucking abused and I'm not about to put him through it."

Murphy nodded, "Your parents are Stuart and Carol McCormick, correct?"

"Were," he corrected snidely. "Got my little sister out of there, then I moved out, and we've all but disowned those drug-happy fucktards." He bit his lip, sniffling. "I'd never hurt him," he repeated in a whimper.

The man let out a long breath and nodded slowly. "If you knew this Mr. Tucker was a possible threat, why did you allow further communication?"

"I thought...he was just weird," he whispered, shaking his head slowly at himself. "Kyle...Ky thought something was off but I just didn't see it. Craig was only weird with _him_. Because apparently he was planning against him..."

"And what do you think that he was planning on?" he urged.

Those blue eyes locked up in his own again, the man nearly shuddering at the overwhelming loss echoing deep into shades of cerulean. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "But...he wants to hurt him. I don't know how, or even _why_ , but he wants Kyle to get hurt."

"We found no evidence that would suggest that," Murphy reminded him. "Did Kyle have any other enemies? Disgruntled family members? Maybe you're involved with a homophobe?"

Kenny shook his head, "No, all around, everyone we know's been really supportive of us. Hell, his parents nearly threw him a party when he came out," he rolled his eyes. "Overly dramatic Jewish family, all four of 'em, I'll tell ya what," he smirked sadly. "Everyone _seemed_ happy for us...except Craig. He just...didn't seem to care."

"What about your parents?" he raised his brow. "If you've cut ties, is it possible they went after Kyle to take a kind of revenge on you?"

Kenny shook his head. "No. They're gone in fucking Alabama or some shit," he rolled his eyes. "And Kyle knows not to let them into our house if they ever do come around. He's the one that convinced me to get out of there and helped pay to get Karen safe in an apartment with her friends in Denver."

"Not too hard to drive from Alabama to Colorado," he suggested.

"It is when your meth den is out there. Don't wanna leave the profits," he scoffed, taking another sip of his coffee. He looked back at Murphy and sighed. "I know how this looks, but...I was at work," he insisted. "I-I was trying to get money for the two of us to keep building our fucking lives," he bit his lip. "You think I _like_ working in a fucking car shop? Lemme tell ya, I don't. But I do it anyway, because Kyle _deserves_ to have a decent place to live and food and all this shit that I didn't have growing up." He leaned back and stared at the table defeatedly. "I was at work, and he was alone," he whispered. "He was alone and...and Craig knew that. He knew and he grabbed him because he knew I couldn't protect him."

Murphy leaned back, crossing his legs and arms, staring at the blonde intensely. "Would you say Kyle can't defend himself, then? That you're his sole protector?"

Kenny shook his head, "No. No the exact goddamn opposite. Ky knows how to throw a punch if he needs to...but if he was caught off guard, then who knows? And he already got really edgy and tensed around Craig beforehand. Throw in his life being threatened and he could've went catatonic," he bit his lip, raising his cuffed hands and wiping his eyes.

"How do you know his life was threatened?"

"Because I _know_ Kyle," he said sharply. "He wouldn't stop fighting unless he was being threatened like that. Craig probably...had a knife to his throat or...or a gun to his face or something," he whimpered, putting his head down onto his hands and shaking it. "Jesus Christ, he's probably so fucking scared," he sniffed.

The man cleared his throat. "Thought you said Mr. Tucker would kill him."

"Who fucking goes through the trouble of drugging someone just to drag them off and kill them right away?" he asked quietly. The man bit his cheek, wondering if he should inform the distressed boy across from him of the very high probability of that happening. "Craig...if he wanted to kill him so quickly, he probably would've done it at the house," he continued with a shaking voice. "He would've...done it and left the body for me to find and had me get arrested for it. Instead I'm getting served with a restraining order," he gritted his teeth. "He wants to keep me away from his house because he _knows_ that I know Ky's in there somewhere."

Murphy took a deep breath, nodding to himself slowly. "You did assault him," he reminded him.

"He kidnapped Kyle," he bit. "I have every _reason_ to assault him...I just want Ky back," he begged. "And...and you focusing your energy on me is time you're wasting. Because Craig _will_ kill him," he insisted.

"And how do you know?"

He narrowed his eyes, "Because he took him for something. And whatever that something is, Kyle's going to fight it. He's a stubborn asshole who doesn't do _anything_ he doesn't want to. And Craig's patience is pretty limited...If he can drug him up and take him away, then I doubt he'd have too many qualms about getting rid of him."

The man stared at him for a moment, blinking slowly. He looked at the fear and determination starting to whir through his eyes. He gradually got to his feet. "Give me a second, Kenny," he murmured. The blonde watched after him as he made his way out of the room, putting his cheek on the table defeatedly and staring at his cup.

Murphy walked down the hall to Yate's desk, the man looking up at him expectantly, "Well?"

"Sir, I don't think he did it," he said softly, not really wanting to invoke the sergeant's anger at his judgement being questioned. He cringed at a crease in his brow and cleared his throat. "His story hasn't budged an inch in two days, and he hasn't slept at all," he ran a hand through his grey hair and sighed. "Usually someone would've slipped by now but he's...stayed the same," he shrugged.

"He's a good actor then," he repeated with a scoff. "The kid is _from_ a house of abuse," he waved a folder in the air, getting to his feet and slamming it onto the desk beneath him. "Probably doesn't think there's anything wrong with it!"

"We discussed that, in fact, _he_ brought it up," he protested. "Told me how he and Kyle got his little sister out of there first before he left. Sir, I _really_ don't think he did anything. His work confirmed how long he was there. Just judging by the time it takes to drive between there and their house and when the call was made, there's just some serious doubt he'd be able to pull this off so quickly. Besides, the only trouble he's gotten into with us has been some underaged drinking and weed charges, I don't think he's a murderer."

"It's always the one you least suspect," Yates reminded him vehemently.

He crossed his arms and shifted, "Exactly. And he's the _most_ likely suspect," he raised his brow. "But between him and what Marsh told us about him and Broflovski, I _really_ think we're barking up the wrong tree."

"And just _where_ do you think is the right tree? Hm?"

"Tucker," he said quietly. Yates narrowed his eyes and the man held up his hands in defense. "Look, I'm just saying, Tucker got a warning for verbal assault against a store clerk a few years ago, he's the one who seems more prone to violence to me. He has more of a record than McCormick, so, maybe bringing him in for another round of questioning isn't a _terrible_ idea," he winced. "Sir, this is a missing person's case, we don't have time to spend only on one person," he insisted. "Broflovski could be in serious danger if we don't look at every angle."

Yates frowned, sitting back at his desk and tapping his finger lightly against his stack of paperwork. "You _realize_ that if you're wrong, then his life could be up in the air with McCormick?"

"Same goes for you, Sir," he reminded him quietly, the both of them locked in each other's steady stares, ignoring the looks the rest of the department were giving them. "Either way, there's a possibility that we're looking for a dead man, but I don't want to take that risk and neither do you," he winced. Yates nodded subtly, looking at his desk in anger. "We've kept McCormick for 48 hours. We can keep him another two days but I don't think it's necessary."

The sergeant looked at him and shook his head softly. "Fine. Get his paperwork ready. But if we find out he's the one-"

"Then I'll take full responsibility," he cut him off determinedly. "Right now what matters is the missing kid. Not us arguing," he reminded him.

"Fine," he repeated, getting to his feet again and snagging his coat off the hook. "I just hope you're right, Murphy." He swung around, practically storming out of the office with the rest of his department watching after him confusedly.

Murphy took a long breath, breaking from watching after the man and back towards the room Kenny was still silently situated in. "Me, too."


	17. Chapter 17

The sound was beginning to become a nightmare, hearing the clicking and clacking of the barn door locks. Kyle looked up from his nest and bit his lip, clutching the fabric against him as Craig stepped casually into the barn, looking at him satisfactorily. "Well, seems news of you got around finally," he cooed, kicking the door closed behind him.

Kyle frowned, "That just makes it harder for you, you fuck. The more people who know I'm missing, the more likely I'll be found."

Craig smirked, kneeling down beside the cage and flicking the metal lightly. "Not necessarily. Now, would you like out of your cage?" he asked.

"Yes. I would like out of _the_ cage," he snapped.

The noirette shook his head. "You ask _politely_ and I will." He scowled viciously and Craig raised his brow. "I can _very_ easily just leave you in here. I'm offering you the chance to get out. Maybe even come into the heated house if you behave," he taunted.

Kyle looked towards the barn door and took a shuddering breath, cursing at the air steaming from his mouth. He was fucking freezing. He needed to get himself back to a decent feeling in his extremities. Craig occasionally bringing him coffee every six hours was _not_ helping. "Please let me out," he muttered, digging his chin into his blankets and furrowing his brow.

"Ask _nicer_ ," he said, kicking the cage a bit and watching Kyle flinch at the impact.

The redhead shut his eyes and took a deep breath. _'Warmth, Kyle. You can't feel your fucking toes. Suck it the fuck up.'_ he thought. "Please," he said slowly in a gentle voice that he'd had to learn to adapt over the years. "Let me out."

"Of...?" he said expectantly.

"The ca-"

"Noooo," he shook his head. "You know what to say."

He forced a growl down, jaw trembling with the pure essence of anger that he hadn't tapped into in a damn long time. Not since he thought Kenny had been sleeping around from an unfortunately timed rumor and had nearly snapped. "My cage," he breathed out, digging his nails into his blanket.

"Good boy," Craig praised, stomach twisting in excitement. He scooted towards the cage door, looking at the fuming redhead and chuckling. "Here's how _this_ will work: You're going to sit with your back facing me. I'll open the cage enough for you to stick your arms out." Kyle closed his eyes, knowing where this was going and feeling himself nearly bursting at the seams between a torrential combination of fear and anger. "You struggle, I slam the cage onto your arm," he warned. "And it's _heavy_. So I'd suggest that if you don't want a broken bone, you listen. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he seethed, grating the inside of his lip like a madman.

The boy smiled, "Good. Now, turn," he barked. Kyle shut his eyes, clumsily turning himself around, grunting as he awkwardly folded his legs to and fro trying to pivot. He finally managed to do so, taking a long, shuddery breath. That had _exhausted him_. The Jew gulped. This wasn't good. "Blanket off," Craig demanded, Kyle hearing the key sliding into the lock. He shivered, letting the fabric slide off his shoulders and fall around his waist. Craig watched, biting his lip at the slender contours of his back hidden under his t-shirt. He'd have to fix that. "Now, back up and put your wrists out." Kyle growled to himself, using his feet to push himself back against the front side of the cage, reluctantly holding his arms out. He nearly yelped as thick hands grabbed around his wrists, realizing with a start just how much danger he was possibly throwing himself into and trembling. "Hold still, I'm not going to hurt you," Craig assured him.

Kyle jerked at the feeling of plastic winding around his bony wrists, stomach churning at the distinct feeling of Craig's thumbs and fingers occasionally straying off their path to lightly stroke his skin. "I don't believe you," he muttered.

"That'll come later," he promised with a sinister grin, his tone nearly making Kyle choke on his air. The redhead hissed as Craig tightened the second hold, sticking in his finger to check for wiggle room and nodding to himself satisfactorily. He reached behind him, grasping the collar around Kyle's neck lightly. "Hold still," he murmured. Kyle let out a whine as he felt himself being tethered, his awkwardly angled arms shaking as the weight of a freed chain suddenly drooped from the back of his neck. Craig smiled as he locked it into place, giving the chain a few experimental tugs. "Now you can turn and come on out," he cooed.

Kyle took a deep breath, weighing his options. Maybe staying locked up wasn't terrible compared to the possible alternatives. He didn't have much time for regret as Craig yanked the chain again, the redhead flying back through the door and choking. He opened his eyes to see those grey orbs staring at him hungrily, hiccuping out a stifled cry. "Come on," he urged, tugging on him again. Kyle groaned, awkwardly maneuvering his body out of the cage onto the cement floor and shivering with the loss of his blankets. He clumsily rolled back onto his knees, looking at the noirette and shuddering at the _pride_ hidden in those eyes. "So good," he praised.

Kyle looked away angrily, his body rocking back with Craig's tugging. "Stop," he said simply, letting his eyes slip closed. This was humiliating enough being a fucking _prisoner_. He didn't need to add being a goddamn _dog_ to the ever-growing repertoire of low blows.

He screeched as a hand tangled in his hair, ripping his head back and forcing him to stare up at the angry glare of his captor. "You don't get to make the rules," he said lowly, throwing him forward onto the ground. Kyle turned his head just in time to take the impact on his jaw, crying out and curling into himself. "Now," Craig said sharply, tugging his chain. "Come on." Kyle whimpered, trying to move to get onto his feet before Craig kicked the back of his knees, sending him down once more. "You stay down _there_ ," he ordered.

"For God's sake, I'm not a fucking animal!" he screamed brokenly, eyes glassing as Craig began to move, urging him along. The redhead coughed out a heart-wrenching sob as his throbbing legs began to move, biting his lip at the roughness of the stone material against his knees. His bound arms were throwing him off balance, the poor boy nearly falling with every inch. Craig allowed him some patience, watching him giddily as he continued to clamber forward towards the door. He smirked, reopening the barrier. Kyle's eyes widened at the snow on the ground, taking another look at his exposed legs and the distance to the house. He'd never make it before his fucking legs were frostbitten.

"Beg me to carry you and you won't touch the snow," Craig offered.

Kyle looked between him and the innocent white coating across the ground. Craig was giving him literally _no_ options in this mess. There was nearly half a foot covering the grass, the entirety of his lower legs would be exposed. And he was _already_ having trouble feeling them. "Don't make me do this," he pleaded softly, flinching as Craig's hand found its way back into his hair. The fingers lightly tightened in his curls and he groaned.

"You'll never make it in time," he reminded him. "You'll lose your legs. And I'm not taking you to the hospital. So I'll have to amputate with a saw and no anesthetic, because I'm not wasting what I have for something voluntary," he smirked. Kyle's entire body shook and he clenched his eyes shut. He needed to get warmed up, his body was already teetering on wanting to destroy tissue.

God _dammit_.

"Please carry me," he whispered, his pride nearly snapping at the utterance. He hissed, turning his face away as Craig bent down beside him and chuckled.

"Such a good boy," Craig purred hotly into his ear, tucking the chain onto Kyle's lap. Kyle subdued his cries, jerking slightly as Craig reached under his legs and behind his back. He forced him backwards as he swept him up in an easy motion, Kyle cursing to himself at how easily he was being carried. That was just another way of Craig showing that _he_ held the cards here. Kyle was just along for the ride. Kyle kept his sight stubbornly locked on his legs, feeling Craig kicking the barn door closed behind them and making his way towards the house.

The noirette looked down at the angry, flustered Jew, biting his lip in excitement. Kyle was allowing this without so much as a word. He was just _letting_ Craig carry him, not even fighting. He smiled to himself, wondering just how long it would take for him to allow _all_ of the touches he planned to bestow upon the redhead. He shifted the boy and grasped onto him tighter, hearing the slightest bit of protest eek its way out of Kyle's throat, but the redhead too busy shivering in the exposure to do much else.

Craig made it up to the porch, awkwardly angling himself to twist open the knob to the kitchen door and kick it open. Lila met the both of them, tail wagging and eyes gleaming with excitement at the new person in her home. "Brought your friend, Lila," Craig cooed.

Kyle shot him a shady look, waiting for the door to be closed before starting to struggle to get out of his arms. "Let me go!" he demanded, swinging his legs and jolting his torso about.

Craig rolled his eyes but shrugged. "All right," he opened his arms, letting Kyle topple onto the hard, linoleum floor. The Jew groaned, head throbbing at the impact before his eyes shot wide open in panic as his throat was tightened around. He yelped, trying to scramble up before the chain stopped him in his tracks, catching under his chin and beginning to drag him across the smooth surface. He let out a raspy cry, feet kicking as he tried to regain some form of stance. The dragging stopped, his eyes closed as the collar continued to press against his throat and constrict his airway. His head felt heavy, hearing his heart pounding madly and barraging his eardrums. A soft _click_ entered the sound's rhythm, Kyle forcing his eyes to open. His heart dropped at the sight of a large metal radiator a few feet in front of him, his chain wrapped around a split section and secured.

He whined as Craig reached down and grabbed his t-shirt dragging him closer to the radiator. Kyle gasped, trying to back out of the hold before a smack on his head froze him for a moment. "It's a water radiator. It won't burn you," Craig said gently, sitting him up and pressing him close to the heat source. Kyle's entire body nearly jumped at the influx of warmth breaking onto him. He shivered, backing himself up closer and hurriedly pivoted himself around, letting his frozen legs rest beside the radiator. He closed his eyes, taking a long, deep breath. Warmth would make him strong. Strength would make him _free_.

Craig watched him, tonguing over his lips and leaning against the counter, holding Lila back with a gentle hand in her fur. He was right there, sitting half-dressed in his kitchen. A look of such _relief_ over his pale face. Relief to be here, with him, at _his will_.

Kyle looked over at him and scowled, turning back and staring at the floor angrily. This was goddamn ridiculous. He shifted a bit, wincing at the ties slicing into his wrists, the chain digging into fresh indentations in his throat. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to look at the staring noirette again. He couldn't keep his head down. He _couldn't_ let himself seem as less of a person than Craig was already forcing onto him. "Why me?" he asked with a shaking breath.

Craig stared back for a moment, casually reaching behind him and grabbing a plate of food. Kyle looked, nose twitching at the smell of scrambled eggs leaking into the air. Craig sat at the table, casually beginning to eat, keeping his eyes away from the redhead. His ears perked at Kyle's stomach growling slightly and he smirked to himself. "Because I deserve it," he said finally.

"You don't fucking deserve _anything_ but to be thrown in the nuthouse!" Kyle snapped. "Why did you come after _me_?" he repeated.

He swallowed a mouthful of eggs and shrugged again. "Because I wanted to. I was patient enough."

"You didn't fucking indicate anything but hating me!" he protested.

"And if I had told you, what would you have done?" he asked, taking another casual bite.

Kyle paused, sinking down into himself a bit. He knew. He wouldn't have done a damn thing but politely told him no and kept going after Kenny. There was never a fleeting moment where he considered Craig. Ever. Personality of a fucking rock or not, he just wasn't the type that Kyle wanted and never had been. This whole scenario _beyond_ proved his preferences right. "That's not the point," he muttered.

"You've brought it up at least twice now. Obviously it _is_." Craig scoffed, still refusing to look at him as he ate. "If I'd walked up to you like a fag and professed some deep-seated shit, just what would you've said?"

"I-I don't-"

"Answer the fucking question, Broflovski," he said, his voice a low growl.

The redhead took a deep breath, eyes dropping to the floor. "I would've said no," he replied softly.

"Exactly," he said sharply, tapping his fork against the edge of his plate. "You didn't know what was best for you, so I'm _showing_ you."

He sneered, "I'm chained to a fucking radiator like a goddamn trope!" he screamed. "You think this is best for me?!"

"You have someone to take care of you now," he said cooly, waving a bit towards Lila on his other side who backed away, staring at the food hungrily.

"I _had_ someone taking care of me. Someone who didn't fucking kidnap me!"

Craig shook his head. "You just don't know any better, Broflovski." He smacked his lips in boredom at the topic, staring at the window listlessly, eyeing the heavy black curtains stapled down against the plaster walls.

Kyle growled in disgust, getting onto his knees with a sharp hiss at the feeling revitalizing in his tissue. "Craig, let me go and I'll fucking get you help," he said firmly. "You _need_ it."

"No, _you_ do," he corrected. "Need McCormick flushed out of your system and put back where you belong."

Kyle blinked. "Belong?"

A sly smile crept up Craig's lips. "With me, of course. Right where you are," he waved towards him aimlessly. "Just sitting there waiting for _me_."

Kyle's chest tightened, his fists tightening time and again behind him. "You're fucking insane," he whispered.

"No, I just know what I want," Craig said dryly. He put his fork down and finally looked down at the redhead. "Are you hungry?" he asked. Kyle just glared at him, cursing his stomach deciding to curl and growl in the empty air. Craig chuckled, walking over and putting his half-eaten plate on the ground in front of him. "Eat up," he said, casually walking away and beginning to clean his skillet.

Kyle looked at him in disgust, "Are you fucking _kidding_ me?!"

"Dogs get the scraps," Craig said nonchalantly. "Or they don't get anything. Unless you want to share kibble with Lila, I suggest you fucking eat what I give you."

"You fucking wouldn't-"

He stopped short with a slight turn of Craig's head, his eyes gleaming angrily. "Eat it or go back to the barn and go hungry," he snapped.

"How the fuck do you expect me to even eat..." he trailed off, noting the obvious cock of Craig's eyebrow. He frowned, looking at the plate in front of him and bristling. Another cold chill ran up his spine, his shoulders dropping defeatedly. "Goddammit, Craig," he sniffled. "Come on...just let me go home."

"You _are_ home," he said angrily, throwing his skillet into the sink with a loud crash and making both Kyle and Lila jump in shock. Kyle's jaw quivered as the noirette stalked over, towering above him. Craig knelt down and grabbed Kyle's chin, slamming his head back against the radiator with a cut cry. "I'm being _kind_ and letting you stay in the house while I go to work," Craig hissed, coming up into Kyle's terrified face and grabbing around his throat. "It's either that or you go to the fucking pole in the fucking barn. Now are you going to fucking behave or am I going to be peeling your frostbitten corpse off the fucking ground?" he hissed.

Kyle's breath caught in his chest, his entire body rigid as marble. This had to be a nightmare. This had to be from he and Kenny getting high and he just tripped out in the wrong direction. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he whispered fearfully.

Craig stared before slamming his head against the cast iron again, listening to it clang under Kyle's pained whine. "You," he said curtly, tightening his grip. "Answer the _fucking_ question, Broflovski!" he shouted.

"I'll stay, I'll stay!" he pleaded hoarsely, just desperately wanting Craig's hand to let go of his throat.

The words sent a pleasant roll down Craig's spine, his hand releasing his throat automatically. "Good boy," he said, the poison dropping in an instant. Kyle watched him, eyes blearing. He was insane. Craig was out of his fucking _mind_. And he was _trapped with him_. Craig leaned back towards him and Kyle backed against the radiator as far as he could, yelping as a face buried into his neck.

He turned and looked towards the other side of the kitchen, not sure of his options. He couldn't fight him off. And Craig was lying before apparently, he _was_ willing to kill him. Or at least debilitate him beyond repair. He shut his eyes as he felt hot, moist breath against his throat, biting his lip.

Craig nestled into the sweet scent, taking a hand and gently running it across Kyle's hip. He felt the redhead shaking underneath him, _feeling_ how badly the boy wanted to fight him off. How _badly_ his pride was splintering. Good. He couldn't have _that_ in his way for the rest of his life. Eventually, Kyle was just going to have to cave.

"Stop," Kyle begged as lips and teeth began tracing over his skin, breathing out of control and his heart pounding madly. "Craig, _stop_!" he screeched as hands firmly rooted his ankles down onto the floor. Kyle looked towards the covered window above him, praying for someone or something to come sailing through it and get him out of this disaster. A hot tongue trailed up his cheek and he screamed, shaking his head and tossing his restrained body about violently. Craig backed off and watched him amusedly, a smoldering gaze locked on the redhead.

He cupped his flying chin and brought him to a stop, turning him to face him once more. Bloodshot eyes locked in his own and he chuckled. "You'll learn to appreciate all I do for you," he purred. "Now. I'm going to work. You eat and when I get home, we'll make sure you're all set for the night." He leaned forward, placing a brash kiss against unresponsive lips, backing off with a shudder at Kyle's distraught expression. He pet his head a few times before getting onto his feet. He reached over to the kitchen door, quickly doing up the deadbolt and knob. Craig grabbed a bowl of water and set it on the floor next to his plate of eggs, turning and walking out without another word.

Kyle stared at the floor blankly until he heard the front door opening and closing, the sound of at least three locks being set. Finally, he looked up, feeling the unfamiliar taste of Craig lingering on his lips; The taste of bitterness. He looked at the eggs beneath him and sighed defeatedly. Slamming down his pride, thankful that Craig had left him to do this without being around to _witness_ his humiliation, he bent himself down, grabbing a piece of egg between his teeth. He clumsily chewed the chilled sustenance, glaring at Lila, who was staring at him happily.

He sighed through his nose, continuing to pick apart his scraps piece by piece, that bitter sensation still lingering over him disgustingly. Craig was gasoline, and he was a lit match swept in his tide. Kyle's intuition screamed it all: It seemed as though things just weren't going to end well for either of them.


	18. Chapter 18

Staring into those glazed brown eyes was beginning to wear on Kyle's last nerve. Lila stayed by him all throughout the day, watching with an excited, naive pant as he tried to free himself from his confinement. He'd been at it for hours, he was completely worn out. His voice was hoarse from screaming all day, praying that someone was staking outside of the house and would hear him to rescue him. He was just so fucking _tired._ Of course, his doubts didn't exactly help him any. After all, he was twenty minutes outside of town by _car_. He wasn't even entirely sure what direction town was in, Kenny had been the one to drive them over, and Kyle had been too busy playing on his damn phone to keep notes of the area.

He bit his lip. He didn't have a phone. He didn't have _clothes_. The Colorado weather certainly wasn't going to be on his side. But then again, at the rate it was going, risking dying of hypothermia seemed to be the better option if escape was possible.

He jerked as he heard the front door jingling, his chest dropping in fear. Lila jumped up and happily ran to the door, fidgeting as she waited for it to open. The redhead grated his teeth, giving a last ditch effort to pull his head out from his collar, feeling the bruises gained throughout the day on his throat throbbing angrily. But they didn't matter. What mattered was getting the hell _out._

Kyle flinched as the door opened, hearing Craig murmuring quiet hellos to the dog and re-locking the door. Kyle shuddered, backing up against the radiator once again as footsteps neared the kitchen, a far-too-satisfied look on Craig's face as he walked in. The noirette couldn't help but smile. Coming home to Kyle, it was almost too good to be true. "And how are you?" he asked.

"Craig, I'm _done_ ," he spat. "Let me out and take me _home_." He stayed sturdy as Craig's face fell darkly, gray gleaming with malice.

"Did you forget that little chat we had this morning?" he asked quietly, cracking his fingers a bit. The redhead bared his teeth, knowing he was digging himself deeper into the possibility of jeopardy, but his stubborn ass just _refusing_ to let Craig think he was going to bend for him. Craig shook his head, walking past him to Kyle's confusion and opening the kitchen door. Lila ran outside and Craig followed, shutting it behind him.

Kyle blinked. What the _fuck_.

He shook himself out of the confusion, snarling and trying again to free up his wrists. They were torn something _awful_ from his struggles, finally understanding why Kenny launched into an angry lecture over some porn they'd watched way back when over the usage of the binds. Kyle sighed, body settling defeatedly. Where the hell _was_ Kenny? He _knew_ Craig had him. Was he still in jail? They _had_ to have let him out by now...right? He bit his lip and sniffled, wishing more than anything for the blonde to burst in with his shotgun and blow Craig's head right the fuck off. For him to get him untied and drive him home and never let him out of his sight again. He'd welcome the coddling at this point. It was definitely needed this time around.

He turned back as the door opened once more, Craig walking in casually. Kyle's ears perked at the sound of running water before looking to see his box of needles and a bottle held in Craig's hands. He gasped, shaking his head. "Don't you fucking _try_!"

He rolled his eyes, "It's your insulin, calm down," he said, showing him the bottle label to Kyle's bewilderment. "You haven't had it for days. And I forgot to give you it this morning with your little hissy fit." He knelt down beside the Jew and Kyle watched in disgust as Craig casually filled it to his dosage. "Hold still," he murmured, tugging Kyle closer to him. The redhead flinched as his shirt was lifted, his boxers moved down just a touch and the syringe began lining up against his hip. Kyle winced as it dug into his skin, Craig's untrained hand off the angle just enough for him to feel the pinch. He let out a sharp hiss as the boy pulled the needle back out and capped it for disposal, tossing it up onto the countertop.

"Why do you have my insulin?" Kyle questioned, voice wavering.

"Because you need it," he shrugged, placing his tools onto the table and mindlessly cracking his neck.

He narrowed his eyes, "You fucking don't give a shit about me enough to care that you _kidnapped_ me but you grabbed my fucking medicine?!"

He scoffed, "I brought you here _to_ take care of you," he corrected, reaching out and wrapping his fingers behind Kyle's ear, ignoring the panicked flinching as he pet through his matted curls. "Speaking of which," he continued. "It's been three days. _You_ need a bath," he grinned ardently.

Kyle shook his head, trying to get away from the invasive fingers. "No, you stay _away_!" he snapped.

"But I have it out there ready to go," he purred. Kyle blinked, eyes widening as the running water outside seemed to pick up its volume.

"No," he whispered.

Craig chuckled, flicking his cheek softly. "Two options: Either you take a bath out _there_ , or you take it in the actual bathroom. Where you _won't_ have icicles in your hair," he tugged a curl pointedly.

"Just _stop_ ," he begged, shoulders heaving and chest tightening. He nearly doubled over, exhausted body trying to sob as Craig continued to casually touch him. Fingers traced along his jawline, tipping his chin back up to look at the noirette who smiled sweetly.

"Not many dogs get a choice," he reminded him. "Make _yours_."

Kyle's eyes fleeted to the ajar door, seeing snowflakes dusting about. They were taunting him; Telling him that he had one choice in the matter, because each one of _them_ was as determined to hurt him as Craig was. "Please," he pleaded, voice raspy in his trepidation. "Please don't-" he stopped, glassy eyes flying open wide with panic as a strong hand clasped over his mouth. He looked to see Craig's patience hitting its end, feeling the anger through his shaky arm.

"Broflovski, I am _warning_ you," he said firmly. Kyle slowly shook his head, brain just completely overrun. He couldn't think. He couldn't figure out this situation for the life of him, and it was tearing him apart. Craig suddenly removed his hand and Kyle stretched his jaw out as the boy got to his feet, calling Lila into the house, stepping out to shut off the still dribbling hose. He came back in and shut the door, Kyle staring at his legs as Craig told Lila to go lie down in a soothing tone, the dog happily pattering away to go lie on her bed. The redhead heard Craig rummaging around the kitchen before he knelt back in front of him. "Tell me your choice."

He shut his eyes. "I can't make that kind of choice," he whispered. He yelped as Craig grabbed him by the hair, ripping the tendrils sharply until his lips parted in a pained groan. A rag found itself into his mouth past his teeth, green eyes locked on the ceiling in alarm. The fingers untangled from his hair, Kyle noting movement from the corner of his eye too late as a fist collided with his cheekbone, his skull smashing into the radiator and bringing him into a crumpled pile on the floor. Kyle gasped out in shocked pain, nothing having the time to register as a foot began slamming into his chest and stomach time and again. The iron behind him clanged in a deafening song as he continued to be assaulted, muffled screams and sobs breaking through in disharmony.

Kyle tried to scramble away, stopped as the foot came down onto his head, smashing his nose against the floor. Vision escaped him, an agonized cry coming through the rag as blood began leaking onto the floor under him. The collar was cutting into his throat, his head was incredibly heavy. He just couldn't _think_.

He curled up as Craig kneeled down beside him again, grabbing the back of his neck and throwing him up face-first against the radiator. Kyle screeched as his browbone caught on one of the hot metal slats, the vibration ricocheting through his skull. He whimpered as Craig's breath rebounded off the other cheek, cringing into himself and trying to stop his shaking. "Is it easier for you now?" he demanded. Kyle just jerked away and Craig rolled his eyes. He grabbed the back of Kyle's hair once more and pulled his head straight back. Reaching over, eyes refusing to let off of Kyle's bleeding and hyperventilating form, he grasped the water bowl, sitting up straighter on his knees. He looked straight down at the terrified, bent redhead and smirked, bringing up the bowl and beginning to pout it through the rag into his mouth.

Kyle's eyes widened, trying to struggle out as he was flooded, unable to stop the torrent past the rag now weighing down against his tongue. Choking down some of the liquid, his eyes watered, every ounce of him burning as he tried to jostle himself out of the tight hold. Craig watched with disinterested, lax eyes, watching Kyle's throat convulsing. He tongued over his lips, leaning forward and ignoring the trails of water leaking down the skin, lightly biting the peached canvas.

Kyle couldn't feel him, too focused on trying to breathe and failing to do so. His struggles were simmering, black creeping along the very edges of his peripheral. He sobbed a bit, water spurting out of his mouth onto the uncaring Craig, who was _far_ too invested in making a mark on Kyle's neck. He suckled against the sweet skin, teeth and tongue lapping against him. This was all his. Every little inch was _his._

He finally leaned up as Kyle began to slink limply in his arms, body trying to stop his fighting and let him fade off. He tore the bowl back and set it on the floor with what little remained, holding the Jew by the back of his head. He reached in and peeled out the rag still assaulting Kyle with liquid, watching as the redhead coughed through his tears, wheezing desperately. "There you go," he cooed, brushing his bangs back and pulling him closer. "Shh, there you go." he ran his thumb over Kyle's temple, biting his lip at the battered boy in his hands. So beautiful, so perfect, every ounce of him subject to what he wanted. Just like he dreamed.

He moved a bit, leaning Kyle down towards him and resting his panting head on his shoulder, petting through his hair soothingly. Kyle didn't make the effort to get away, too distracted with trying to make his lungs fall back into order, his chest aching from the brutal kicks and the desperate breaths. "Going unconscious is scary, isn't it?" Craig asked softly, tousling his hair and nuzzling down into the soft nest. "If I put you outside for your bath, it'll be dragged out even _longer_ ," he feigned a pout, smirking at Kyle resuming his trembling as his mind finally began to catch back up with him. This was it. He had him in his corner, looming over him and ready to take him down in whatever way he so pleased.

"I hate you," Kyle whispered, tears and blood leaking onto Craig's sweatshirt.

"But I _love you_ ," Craig cooed, the words like ice against Kyle's heart. He sobbed, jerking around weakly as the noirette grabbed his knife from his pocket, slowly beginning to shred through Kyle's shirt. Craig shuddered, watching as he tore halfway through the back of the fabric, the cloth collar separating and sliding down with his sleeves.

"Stop," he whispered, kicking his legs to try to struggle away as fingers traced over his spine. "Craig, stop," he pleaded, hiccuping as the knife went back to work on his sleeves and the rest of the back, peeling shredded fabric off of him piece by piece. Craig leaned him back up with the knife pressed against his throat, ripping what remained of his shirt off and throwing it down. He stared at Kyle's narrow chest rising and falling, fingers coming to brush over a large, beginning bruise over his main bronchus. He pressed the blade further against him, watching excitedly as Kyle's head listlessly followed his direction.

"Come on, now," he said, an edge returning to his tone that made Kyle shudder. "You're bleeding pretty bad. So. Inside or outside?"

Kyle clenched his eyes shut, feeling the metal pressing against his throat and letting out a long, shaky breath. Fuck fuck **fuck**. "Inside," he whispered.

"Hmm?" Craig asked, pulling him closer.

"Inside," he repeated, every ounce of him slouching, completely crushed.

"Good boy," Craig praised, pulling his knife away from him and shoving it back into his pocket. Kyle sniffled, feeling Craig undoing the chain around his collar and biting his lip. He could run. He could try and fight. But to what end? For Craig to knock him out and leave him in the snow? To let him dismember him and make him literally _nothing_ but his stilled pet? He whimpered as Craig stood and tugged his collar, forcing him to slowly move himself on his knees towards Craig's room at his side.

This was lose-lose. Stan was absolutely right: He just didn't know _how_ to fight this. He was too disadvantaged at every turn; Something that he just wasn't used to, something that he didn't know how to combat when pressed so far against the wall he was seeping into the studs.

He stared at the tiled floor blankly as Craig sat him down in the doorway between the master bathroom and bedroom, turning on the faucet and letting it drown out Kyle's shallow breathing. The noirette kept his eyes on him, smirking and bending down next to him, tugging at the waistband of his boxers. Kyle gulped, shaking his head. "Don't."

"What did I say before?" he raised his brow. "You don't get a choice. You should be _thankful_ for the one you got earlier and not push your luck." He leaned closer against his neck and chuckled hotly in his ear. "Besides, not like I've never seen you before," he whispered, biting his lobe sharply. Kyle's entire body quivered in nausea, yelping loudly as Craig ripped his boxers from under him. His face flushed over, staring away and out the room as the fabric oh-so-slowly was peeled down his lean legs, forcefully torn off from around his feet. He could just feel those eyes tracing over him, staining his skin. He curled his legs up into himself, his bound and undressed state far too vulnerable for him to handle.

Craig was speechless, staring at him so up close. He'd dreamed of this for so long. This soft, supple flesh his to touch and to stroke. The slender muscle for him to caress. Kyle's legs for him to come between, leaning over him and soaking him in like a second skin. His fingers twitched. He almost didn't know what to do first. "Look at me," he ordered. Kyle's jaw trembled, refusing to move his head before a strong hand grabbed his arm, digging in painfully. He turned, Craig nearly buckling under such misery in those vibrant eyes. " _Christ_ ," he whispered, cupping his chin and kissing his still lips softly. Kyle's face scrunched in discomfort, whining as a hand slid up his smooth thigh, thumb stroking along his pelvic line. "If you're good, you can sleep on the bed tonight," Craig promised. "Right next to me, where it's nice and warm," he grinned.

"I'm not yours, Craig," he whispered, trying to ignore the curious hands tracing so eerily along his skin. "You can't do this."

"I can and I am," he growled, reaching under him and hefting him up, Kyle's body slinking in humiliation as he was gently set in the tub. He stared at the warm water surrounding his lower body, cringing as Craig dumped a cupful of water onto his hair time and again.

"Kenny's going to kill you," he muttered, blankly staring down as shampooed hands came and began working through his hair.

Craig rolled his eyes, "I'm sure. That idiot couldn't even find you in the only place I could have _possibly_ hidden you. I _doubt_ he's going to be able to convince police to come back for you."

He took a shaking breath, wincing at the shampoo dripping off his hair and down onto his maimed wrists. "I'm not going to be your pet."

"You seem to be doing rather well," he smirked, tugging his collar a few times. "Look at you sitting here so _well behaved_ ," he drawled.

Kyle let out a long breath through his nose, eyes snapping towards him angrily. "You're not worth me nearly dying," he hissed. "I'm not letting _you_ of all people come that close to killing me. You're not worth it," he repeated, looking away from him to the wall. Craig began silently rinsing out his hair, playing in the lush tendrils and scratching his scalp lightly. He shook his head in disappointment, dumping conditioner into his hands and thoroughly coating the blood-red mess. Kyle's nose perked a bit at a familiar scent, looking to the edge of the tub and shuddering. His brands of soap, shampoo, and conditioner all right there, obviously bought long ago judging by the faded price stickers. Just waiting for him.

"I'm all you have," Craig muttered, beginning to wipe him down with his minted soap, relishing in the familiar scent of Kyle overtaking the small, humid room. "McCormick isn't going to find you, and you're not going anywhere."

"You underestimate me," Kyle scowled at the water. "Don't think I won't hesitate to fucking stab you the second your back is turned."

"And why aren't you fighting _now_?" he raised his brow. "Didn't have to tie up your legs or anything."

He smirked a bit, "Where's the fun in that?" he said dryly. "It'll be _much_ more satisfying to stab your spine and paralyze you first so I can turn you over and you can _watch_ me gut you like a fish," he sneered.

Craig rolled his eyes, punching his bared back and watching him hiss. "And what makes you think I won't do the same to _you_?" he challenged.

Kyle finally looked at him, taking a steady breath. "Because you don't want me dead. I'm what you kept fighting to get, and you don't want to lose that. Besides, it's easier to drug me and hide me than it is to keep the dogs from finding my body in the woods."

Craig got up in his face and they stared each other down, both sets of steely eyes just daring the other to make their move. "You're awfully confident considering your position."

"The same could be said about _you_ ," he said coldly. "You forget who my fucking boyfriend is and how well he knows how to work that gun of his. He knows where I am, and you know as well as I do that he's not going to let the fucking police stop him from getting me out. You're running out of time," he glowered.

The noirette stared at him, grabbing his collar and hiking him up closer to his face, staring him down with a sultry smirk. "Well then. Guess I should make the most of it."


	19. Chapter 19

He could barely keep his eyes open, the beginnings of twilight coasting over him in a cruel, soothing embrace. He stared out of Stan's window from his couch, heartbroken and exhausted. He just wanted to find him. Just wanted to swoop him up and move him as far away as he possibly could. Kenny hung his head silently, clutching around his arms and sniffling.

Two papers lied on the table; Glaring, _evil_ words spewed across them for himself and Stan. '200 yards distance, punishable if broken by up to one year of prison or a fine of $2000, if not both'. Being summoned to the court and handed these papers, being _ignored_ as Kenny sobbed out his half of the story. The judge didn't care. After all, he was a suspected _murderer_. Rumors flew quickly in a small town, and South Park was the furthest from having any tight-lipped civilians. After all, Craig was the manager of the town's pet store, he helped the judge find the food to calm his tabby's sensitive stomach. He was a _model citizen_ despite his poor attitude. Kenny? Kenny was the hick car mechanic who smoked and made out lewdly with Kyle in public places, he was the boy who came from being raised in a meth den. He was 'a product of his environment', it wasn't too difficult for the town to begin scowling at him, pointing fingers at him for 'murdering such a nice young man, a man who _loved him_ '.

Kenny shook his head, leaning his head back again and staring at the ceiling with blurring eyes. He knew the people who mattered had his back. Stan knew. Hell, _all_ their friends knew he was innocent. Even Kyle's parents and brother had come up and hugged him through their tears, knowing that Kenny would never hurt a hair on his head. He was far too affectionate, had given Kyle _far_ too much over the years without the redhead even knowing. The accusations were ludicrous. But it didn't matter. The _only_ person whose opinion mattered was trapped. Whether in a room or in the ground, he didn't know. And it was _destroying him._

Stan came into the living room, taking a deep breath through his nose at Kenny's distraught face. He pushed a mug of coffee against him, eyes glimmering pitiably as Kenny's fingers listlessly wrapped around the handle and pulled the cup against his chest. He seemed so weak; A breathing corpse. He'd lost his lifeblood, that much was clear as day. It was beyond Stan how anyone could look at the blonde and think for a second that he was the cause of any foul play. He knew Kenny, he was the worst actor in the world. Kyle had figured out every birthday and Hanukkah gift the blonde planned for him with just a few teasing guesses, easily catching Kenny's lying twitch of the lips, the way his right eyebrow hiked in just the slightest. He couldn't keep a secret to save his life, _especially_ when it came to Kyle.

And the last thing Kenny had ever been was violent. Hell, Stan was more than aware that between the two of them, _Kyle_ was more likely to snap and kill someone than the older. When Kenny got angry, he left the house and drove around for a few hours. That'd always been how he'd calm down enough to come back home and finally talk it out with the redhead. Kyle, on the other hand, had a habit of breaking plates and clenching fists. He never touched Kenny, always keeping himself a good distance as he had a custom of waving his arms around frantically when on edge, once in their earlier years socking Kenny hard enough in the jaw that the fight was instantly forgotten about and Kyle spent two weeks trying to make up for his mistake. Kyle moved towards the battle but kept his head, Kenny distanced himself.

At least, until it came to _defending_ each other. At that point, all bets were off on either end. Blood could be, and _had been_ spilled for one another on more than one occasion. And watching Kenny throwing Craig against the wall spelled it all out clear as day: He was scared, and he was ready to kill to find what happened to Kyle. Nothing else made the blonde snap as quickly as finding someone hurting or insulting his boyfriend, and Kyle had always returned the favor. Stan bit his lip, taking a long sip of his coffee and a deep breath. He could only hope that Kyle was still alive; Still wiry and fighting for himself. Hopefully, not fighting for his life.

"What is he doing with him?" Kenny's grated voice breeched his thoughts.

"Hm?"

Stan's heart sank at the despondency in Kenny's glittering eyes. "Kyle. What is he doing with Kyle?" he whispered.

He bit his lip, putting his free hand on Kenny's knee and shaking it a bit. "I don't know, Ken. I really don't."

The blonde sniffled, taking his own sip, dropping it to stare into the milky caramel coloring. "Kyle said that Craig told him that he stole me. Do...do you think _I'm_ why he-"

"No," Stan cut him off sharply, getting a surprised look out of him. Stan set his lips firmly and sighed. "I don't know what that fuck is thinking, but I doubt it's to get back at you. I'm sure he would've spelt that out if _that_ was his motive."

"But what else is there?" he asked helplessly. Stan didn't know how to answer. He just didn't _know_. Kenny bit his lip and sniffled again, "God, I hope he's all right."

"I'm sure he's fine," Stan coaxed, reaching up and rubbing his shoulder. "Ky's a fighter."

"He's never been kidnapped, though," Kenny said blankly. "That probably changes things." Stan let out a long breath through his nose, looking down and nodding subtly. He was right. That _had_ to be somewhat of a game changer. "I just wish I knew what this was for," Ken continued in a mumble. "Ky never did anything and...and Craig just..." he trailed off with a cracking voice, feeling Stan moving closer and putting his arm around his shoulders.

"I know," he replied softly. "We'll get him back, Ken. I promise."

"How?" he pleaded. "We can't go near Craig. We'll be fucking tossed in jail and that'll be the end of it. Then _no one_ will save him!"

Stan twisted his lips, looking in front of them and nodding slowly. "Well. I think we need some help, then."

* * *

He should've gone back to the cage. Or asked to sleep on the floor. Because _this_ was absolutely not boding well.

Kyle shifted uncomfortably atop Craig's comforter, wrists tied together above his head to the railing of the headboard as he lied on his bare stomach. He shivered, still wet from the bath, trickles of water still trailing from his thick hair down his neck and face and driving him nothing short of mad. He clenched his teeth around the rag in his mouth, tied in tightly by Craig's cloth and taking a long breath through his nose. He cringed as his nose throbbed, still sore from being bashed against earlier, his right browbone not faring much better as he lied with it pressed against the pillow Craig had designated for him. His hands twisted about, trying to snap the ties fastened almost naturally into the previously given indentations. He heard Craig outside of the room with Lila, ushering her back inside the house and praising her.

He gulped, hearing footsteps approaching, trying more ardently to break free, knowing that he wasn't making any lick of progress, but damn it all, he _had_ to try. Green orbs flickered over as Craig breeched the threshold of the room, shuddering at the lusting look falling over his eyes.

Craig's watch swept over the curvaceous layout spread on his bed. He bristled with eagerness that he'd never felt before. Kyle lying there, naked, skin glistening with the leftover dew of his bath. On _his bed_.

The noirette chuckled, moving closer and watching amusedly as Kyle tried to sink into himself. The boy kicked off his shoes and Kyle cried out through the rag as Craig moved onto the opposite side of the bed, crawling towards him almost cautiously, like approaching a fine exhibit within a museum. Fingers reached out curiously, starting at the back of Kyle's knee and tracing up his thigh. Kyle shook his head, jerking around as he brushed oh-so-nonchalantly over his ass, nails lightly digging into the ample flesh.

"So good," Craig breathed, leaning down and ghosting his breath over Kyle's shoulderblade. Kyle yelped, trying to bash back against him. His eyes flittered frantically as Craig moved over him, screaming as the noirette shoved his legs apart and settled between them. He started to cry dryly, attempting to scramble up and away before Craig's body weight pressed down against his back, lips tracing over the back of his neck. Kyle whined, trying to pull his head away, breathing frantically as he felt Craig pushing his hips lightly against his ass, a very clear bulge pressing against his skin.

' _Jesus fucking_ _ **Christ**_ _he can't do this!'_ Kyle thought in panic. _'He can't be fucking serious!'_

"Don't worry," Craig murmured, leaning up further and licking behind his ear, feeling the shudder reverberate throughout Kyle's entire body. "I won't fuck you. Not tonight," he promised with a soft nibble. Kyle wasn't sure whether to breathe in relief or sob hysterically, caught in a whirlwind of a paradox as he lied naked as a prisoner under his grinding captor. "But..." Craig started, grinning at Kyle's form stiffening in alert. "I'm going to teach you just _why_ you should behave. When you're good, you get _rewarded_ ," he promised. Kyle whimpered, shaking his head frantically. The noirette chuckled, untying the cloth from his damp curls and pulling the rag out of his mouth.

Kyle gasped, mouth slack and coughing lightly. "Don't do this," he begged softly.

"Don't do what?" he cooed, reaching into his nightstand drawer.

"Don't touch me," he whispered, eyes widening as Craig fished out a cylindrical bottle. "Just _stop_!"

Craig smirked, grabbing under his slim waist and hiking his hips up. Kyle's face erupted in color, trying to use his knees to move away, his twisted wrists throbbing angrily with every movement. He groaned as Craig pressed against him, feeling his breath becoming hotter and heavier on his back. Craig poured a good amount of lube into his palm, lightly rubbing it to create heat as he stared down the graceful curve of Kyle's spine, ignoring how much the redhead was trying to thrash away from him. "Shh," he coaxed, trailing his fingertips underneath Kyle's raised stomach, tracing slowly down to his pelvic line and brushing over his limp cock. Kyle's eyes shot open and he screamed, yowling as Craig took his free hand and slapped it over his mouth.

He grasped genially around the flaccid skin, feeling Kyle hyperventilating through his nose onto his hand. He smirked, gently teasing the flesh, playing with expert hands. Knowledge from all those nights watching the redhead work himself gave him his strategy, knowing just how to touch and how to work the boy into a puddle. He'd get him under his hand faster than McCormick _ever_ did.

Kyle continued to screech, trying to bite the hand over his lips and squirm out of the hold. He couldn't do this. Craig couldn't fucking _do this_. He groaned, cursing himself violently as his body started to betray him, the pure hate and fear being shoved aside as his stomach grew a warmth from deep within the pits. He tried kicking Craig away, blinking back tears as he felt Craig beginning to grind against him once again in time with his hand.

"Good boy," Craig whispered, feeling Kyle's cock slowly but surely turning hard in his hand. He stroked his thumb lightly over the slit, nipping softly against the freckles of Kyle's back. Kyle shuddered, using his bound wrists to try to pull himself forward, wincing as all he managed to do was shift his cock in Craig's pulsing hand.

Craig was unbearably hard, letting out a soft groan and letting go of Kyle's mouth for a moment to undo his jeans and let them coil around his legs, slapping back against his lips before he had the time to scream his protests. His dick pressed against his cotton boxers, feeling the heat of Kyle's skin as he thrust against him, on the brink of losing his mind.

Kyle sobbed openly, his own cock hard and hot in Craig's hand. He hated himself, he hated _all of this_. His thighs began to twitch, entire body in an absolute turmoil at the events unfolding. He clenched his moist eyes shut, trying to force his body into a shut down. He couldn't let Craig do this to him. He thought of Kenny, trying to find his devastated face in the cloud of biology currently overshadowing him. He couldn't seem to pinpoint it, only seeing what he'd seen last, that goddamn goofy smile after Kyle handed him his coffee and gave him a good-bye kiss. That damn _sweet_ teasing voice as he playfully bit his neck and that _stupid_ wink he always gave him before heading out the door.

He felt Craig's hand slipping off his lips again and clutching under his chest, nails scraping over him lightly. "Stop," he whispered through his tears, body jerking without his consent into his slick palm.

"You don't want me to," he breathed heavily, trailing his tongue along his spine. "You just want me to keep touching you, don't you?"

"No," he croaked. The room was too hot. He was being smothered between Craig's unwelcome body heat and touches and the overwhelming _guilt_ stacking in his mind. He hissed through clenched teeth as Craig picked up his speed, fingers wrapped too precisely around him; The fuck knowing _just_ what to do. Kyle's body was a kayak on the ocean; tossing and turning, not able to decide where it wanted to land. The nausea was being beaten down by the heat building inside him; The biological _need_ for release was being smashed by his absolute _fury_.

"Such a _good boy_ ," Craig smiled wildly, grey eyes beaming as he felt Kyle tensing underneath him. "Come on now," he urged, suckling on the skin of his shoulderblade, a finger tracing down and toying with a pert nipple. Kyle whimpered, trying again to free himself, shuddering at the movement grinding against Craig's hand.

He felt himself coiling closer, doing everything in his power to just stop his body. Just drop unconscious or dead, he didn't _care_. He just had to _stop_. "Please...no," he whispered, voice deadened from hoarse tears and defeat. A last ditch effort, knowing that it was creeping closer and there was nothing he could do.

Craig could feel him melting, his body defying his wishes so drastically for _his whim_. He bit his lip, groaning at his rock hard skin continuing to rut against Kyle's ass. "Come on, be a _good boy_ ," he taunted. He grinned, hearing Kyle's breathing beginning to become cut and sharp. His contorted back heaved, his bound hands clenching.

"Ah..ahh..." the sound left Kyle's throat without his permission, his face burning but his lungs refusing to relinquish the sound. His body was too fucking accustomed to his body being treated like it was, despite the sick fuck who was doing it and set straight into the motions.

Craig moaned softly, knowing that _he_ was the one making him make those sounds. Kyle was putty in _his_ hands. "Come on," he whispered, trailing his tongue against the back of his neck.

Kyle's chest twisted, his stomach lurching. All for naught.

He let out a long, shameful moan as he came onto the comforter, hips jerking in an unadulterated fashion. The guilt and the _hate_ was instantaneous, eyes shooting open and his face dropping into devastation as his body slumped exhaustedly. Craig grunted, letting go of Kyle's skin and pulling his own out of his boxers, a few strokes being all it took before warmth spattered against Kyle's upturned ass. Craig's arms dropped from around him, panting exhaustedly with a wide smile over his face. He looked to see himself dripping down the back of Kyle's thigh, licking his lips and chuckling to himself.

It was better than he _ever_ imagined. He looked up to see Kyle's eyes open, staring at his nightstand with a deadened glaze. He reached up, petting his hair. "You see what happens when you behave?" he cooed.

Kyle sniveled, closing his eyes again, seeing Kenny hiding there behind his lids. _'I'm sorry, Ken. I'm so sorry,'_ he thought mournfully, filled with overwhelming culpability as his eyes burned with more tears. "I want clothes," he worked through his coarse throat.

Craig stared at him for a moment before smirking and shrugging as he put himself back into his boxers and pulling his jeans up. "One thing, and then I'll get you dressed," he promised, leaning up and grasping his chin, turning his head slightly to make him stare up at him. "Say you'll behave and that you'll stay."

Kyle watched him, taking a deep breath and looking away tiredly. "Fine, whatever," he muttered.

Craig shook him with a frown. "You know how to answer, Broflovski."

"...I'll behave. And I'll stay," he said deadpanned, his chest twisting painfully and lip quivering.

"Good," he nodded approvingly, getting up and heading to his dresser, ripping out a pair of his boxers and a shirt. Kyle watched him carefully, sighing to himself as his body slunk, twisting himself to stay out of his own puddle of disgrace. Craig came over and snagged the gagging rag from the bed, unfurling it and lovingly wiping off Kyle's soiled skin. The redhead cringed into himself as the boxers slid up his legs, smacking his ass sharply before letting him regain a touch of his dignity.

Craig casually moved about, slashing the tie holding Kyle's wrists to the headboard and sitting him up. He turned the redhead to face him, smirking boastfully at the complete humiliation over his slender profile. "You behave and I'll get you some food," he promised, leaning forward and kissing him briskly, ignoring the disgusted grunt leaving Kyle's throat. Craig watched carefully as he sliced through the binds on Kyle's wrists for any hint of rebellion.

He observed with wide, excited eyes as Kyle merely grabbed the t-shirt and slipped it on, looking far too exhausted to do much else. Craig kept his knife up, reaching back into his jeans and pulling out more ties. Kyle sighed tiredly, looking at the absolute mess of his wrists before Craig snared them and restrained them in front of him once more.

"Good," Craig smiled, getting up and pulling Kyle with him.

Kyle glanced down at the floor. "Can I wear your slippers?" he murmured.

"Say the magic word," he urged, tipping his chin up.

"Please," he said airily. Craig nodded, watching him slip on the footwear and leading him through the house into the kitchen. The noirette took a moment to fix Kyle's collar on his neck, staring at it admirably.

"And just what do you want to eat?"

Kyle took a deep breath. "I don't ca-" he stopped, narrowing his eyes and looking towards the door, blinking in confusion.

Craig raised his brow, glancing towards it himself. Kyle took his moment, jumping away and rearing his foot back, sending it flying into Craig's stomach. He didn't watch Craig falling back and crashing onto the floor, too busy using the momentum to pivot and run to the front door. He bit his lip, quickly undoing the mess of locks and flinging the barrier open, not giving two fucks about the snow bursting into his face as he bolted out into the beginning darkness. His slippers barely covered his feet, feeling ice particles sloshing down against his skin. But he didn't _care_. This was his _only fucking shot_.

He sped down the long hill, not daring to look back as he made way down towards the base. The snow bit against his skin, angrily reminding him that mother nature was not on his side. That didn't matter. _Adrenaline was_.

He didn't even have to get back into town. Just find a house. Find someone with a _phone_. He could get the police, get Kenny. He could get the _town_ to come and protect him if he said the right things. His eyes burst with hope, body ignoring its utter exhaustion as he propelled himself towards freedom. A light caught his eye from within the woods and he gasped, quickly turning himself onto a small dirt trail and speeding towards it. Light meant people. People meant _safety_.

He grinned before everything came to a sudden halt, a heavy snap clamping around his calf in a fraction of a second. He screamed, collapsing onto the ground and gasping brokenly, looking down in the darkness to see his leg snared in some sort of trap. He whined, reaching down to try to pry it off with his bound hands. It felt like metal and rubber, Kyle hissing as he tried to pull it, losing his grip and feeling it slam back onto his bone. He shook his head frantically, tears welling in his eyes. "No, no, _no_!" he begged, looking back towards the light and his face falling in a horrified realization. It was a lantern hanging from a tree.

Craig was waiting for this.

"You know," that nasally voice drawled from the distance, Kyle's body suddenly feeling every ounce of agony again to coincide with the new pain in his leg. "People say that the _padded_ leg traps are more humane. Is that true?" he asked darkly, face illuminated in the false hope. Kyle watched fearfully as he stepped up and kneeled beside him. "Bad," he said simply before slamming his elbow into Kyle's face. The redhead flew back, head smacking against a large rock under him and his vision going dark as he limply slid down it, gasping brokenly and lashes fluttering. His head lolled, barely feeling as Craig undid the trap around his calf and wrapped an angry fist through his curls, dragging him by his hair back up the hill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is undedicated to Kris. Who is a giant fucking dick.
> 
> _fuck you and your cutesy distracting shit_
> 
> Nah jk kiss kiss mwah u ass


	20. Chapter 20

Kenny and Stan's eyes swept over the people crowded into Stan's basement, all of them staring back with worried eyes. The two of them looked beyond exhausted, beyond scared, and _beyond_ furious.

"Sorry I'm late, Fellers!" Butters voice called as he quickly descended the stairs, making way to an empty seat in the back of the room. "Got caught by a train," he pouted.

"Don't care," Kenny snapped, eyeing them all warily. "Now, you're all here, and you know _why_ you're here."

The group frowned pitiably, "Kenny, Hon," Bebe started softly. "None of us hurt Kyle."

"I _know_ ," he bit. "Craig did. And I vote we lynch him!"

The group recoiled in shock and Stan put a hand on the blonde's arm. "Ken, ease 'em into it, Dude." he murmured. He sighed. "Guys, Craig's the _only_ one who would've done this. He has Ky _somewhere_ and we have to find him."

Cartman scoffed, leaning back and raising his brow. "And why should we?"

"Because Kyle's out there, hurt or dead!" Kenny hissed. "We need to find him!"

"And...how do we know that _you_ aren't the one who did this?" the brunette questioned suspiciously.

Kenny seethed through his teeth, stalking over and standing in front of the heavyweight. "Because I spent two days in _jail_ getting fucking questioned! You all fucking _know_ I wouldn't hurt him! If his own parents can fucking believe me, then you fucking should, too, Fatass! Now either you fucking agree to help or I just assume that you and Craig are working together and I rip your fucking teeth out one by one!"

"I didn't do anything, you poor son of a fuck!" he scowled.

"Then shut the fuck up!" he screeched. He flinched as Stan came and pulled him back, forcing him to sit down in a chair at the front of the room.

"Kenny, come on, you haven't slept in days," he said softly. "Just...breathe, okay?" he winced.

"How can I breathe?!" he questioned desperately. "Stan, we don't know what's happening! We don't know if _Kyle's_ breathing!" he choked out, putting his face in his hands and shaking his head.

He nodded solemnly, rubbing his back, "I know, I know. But freaking out won't get us anywhere."

"Uh, question?" Clyde broke through and raised his hand, blinking at them in shock. "Why do you think _Craig_ did this?"

Stan sighed, scratching at his hair. "He's been weirding Kyle out the past few weeks. Kyle was getting to the point where he was scared of him, even though the idiot wouldn't admit it," he rolled his eyes. "Ken and I had to go to fucking court because he put a restraining order on us to keep us away from the house. If that doesn't scream 'I'm holding a fucking hostage' I don't know what does," he muttered tiredly.

"Hold up," Token stood, waving his hands in front of himself. "Craig's a little off-kilter, but he'd never _kidnap_ someone."

"And how do you know?" Kenny raised his head and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Are _you_ in on this?"

The boy blinked at the accusation, "Dude, I'm Kyle's friend, too, ya know. I'm worried just like you. Besides, Craig tolerates him better than he tolerates most of us...I think?" he blinked, raising his brow at his own words and looking at the ground.

"See?" Kenny jumped up and pointed at him. "All of you _think_. How did Craig act around Kyle?"

They all silently looked around in thought. "I-I don't remember him saying much of anything," Tweek admitted.

"Me neither," Clyde mused. "He kind of ignored him...didn't he?" he looked at the blonde and they cocked their heads at each other before looking up to Token.

"Um...I really can't remember them interacting, actually," Token murmured.

Wendy frowned, "Well, I remember them talking in Chem our senior year," she started slowly, all eyes turning towards her. "They were partnered now and then and you could hear Craig just...I can't even describe it," her face twisted.

"Berating him," Kenny finished, getting a surprised nod from the girl. "Yeah. Ky told me about that. It was one of the reasons he felt uncomfortable around Tucker. Craig has a habit of talking to him like he's dirt," he scowled. He looked around the room, landing on Butters. "Stotch, you see him more than any of us. Has he been acting weird?"

Butters looked up in thought, shaking his head. "No...No I don't think so, Kenny. Heck, he's been all excited lately 'bout his new dog. Bought her another food dish today," he beamed.

Stan narrowed his eyes, "How many food dishes does a dog need?"

"Well...well he said that she has a place t' sleep in his barn," he shrugged. "Gettin' her two sets."

Clyde laughed, "What? Craig wouldn't keep a dog in the barn, no fucking way."

Kenny shot his head towards him and bit his lip, a horrible feeling percolating in his chest. "Whaddya mean?"

"Jesus _Christ_ you should hear him rant about people keeping animals outside," he rolled his eyes. "My cat was gonna be an outside cat until he practically attacked me with statistics on the chances of animals getting sick if kept outside."

Butters pouted, "Well why would he lie?" he questioned, crossing his arms. "He ain't got no reason to."

Kenny bit his lip, "Because he's not keeping _Lila_ in the cage. He's keeping _Kyle_ in it."

He put his hand over his eyes, shuddering. "Oh _god_."

Stan stared at the blonde, watching as Bebe stood and walked to his side, rubbing his arms comfortingly. "Shh, Sweetie, I'm sure that's not it," she said gently.

"It _has_ to be," he insisted, sniffling and looking at her helplessly. He looked up at Butter's devastated face, biting his lip. "What else has he bought for the 'dog'?"

He shrugged, "A cage, some blankets, a couple chain collars...some rawhides...and the dishes. Plus the food. At least that's what I checked 'im out fer."

Stan snarled, "He told us that cage has been there since his grandparents were alive."

Kenny looked at Token, Clyde, and Tweek, who were all paled and staring at the floor blankly. "You three are the only one's who've been in that barn before this whole thing," he reminded them. "What was there when you saw it?"

"Nothing," Token answered quietly. "It was empty except for a few tools hanging around."

"Oh my god," Kenny breathed, raking his hand through his hair and taking a trembling breath. "There's a chain on the pole," he whispered, clasping his hand over his forehead. "Jesus fucking _Christ,_ he's making Kyle a dog."

"You don't know that!" Tweek protested. "Maybe...maybe he just... _forgot_ the cage wasn't there and-"

"OH GROW UP, TWEEK!" he shouted, sending the blonde back in his chair and flinching in panic, Stan reaching over to comfort him with Bebe. Kenny bit his lip, looking up at the ceiling with glassy eyes, chest heaving from his outburst.

A moment of stillness passed over the group before Bebe's voice broke back in as she rubbed Kenny's shoulder. "Why would he do that?"

"Because he has a boner for him," Cartman scoffed, the others looking at him in shock. He shrugged, "Isn't it obvious? You guys never noticed? Tucker stared at that Jewfag all the goddamn time," he rolled his eyes.

"Why didn't you say something?!" Kenny demanded.

He shrugged again, "Because I didn't give a fuck?" he cocked his brow. "You stared at him, too, Po'Boy."

"I think I'm the exception to the creepiness factor, you fucking idiot!" he yelled.

Clyde cleared his throat, breaking their glares apart from each other. "Okay. So. You think Craig did it because of a boner. All right, we'll indulge that for a moment. Why aren't you storming the castle?" he raised his brow.

Stan sighed, crossing his arms angrily. "Because if Kenny and I go, we have one shot. With the fucking restraining order, if Craig finds _us_ before we find Ky, we're getting thrown into jail. So we have to make it _count_. We need your guys' help," he pleaded desperately.

Token, Tweek, and Clyde looked at each other uncertainly. "Well I mean..." Token started uneasily. "Guys I _really_ don't think that-"

"Token, please," Kenny interjected. The boy looked to see Kenny's eyes shining desperately. "Just... _look_. Look for a clue or just _anything_. _Please,_ " he begged.

His shoulders dropped and he sighed, shaking his head. "Fine. But if there's nothing-"

"We'll figure it out from there," Stan jumped in. "Don't tell him you're coming to see him. It has to catch him off guard."

Tweek let out a shaking, nervous breath. "You realize what you're a-accusing him of, right?"

Kenny glared, "No. And that's the problem. I don't know if I'm going to be killing him for kidnapping or murder, and I need _you_ to find out." Tweek folded his lips in and bit down, shying into his seat nervously as Kenny took a deep breath. "Promise me you'll try."

Clyde nodded, "All right, but don't get your hopes too high."

The blonde shuddered, "Trust me, they ain't been high for days," he murmured, the group watching as he turned and ascended up the stairs. They all looked back at each other and heard the front door open and slam, words seeming out of reach in the reality of the situation.

Token finally broke the silence with a quiet murmur, "Let's go find him."

* * *

His head was absolutely pounding, his breath coming through his nose in short, unabated bursts in the freezing room. He groaned, creaking his eyes open to find himself once more on the concrete floor of Craig's barn, vision taking its sweet time adjusting to the surroundings. His teeth clenched around that damn rag tied in his mouth again, cringing as he vaguely remembered just what it'd been used to clean earlier.

He tried moving to sit himself up, stopped short with restraints around his wrists and ankles. He shut his eyes, lying his forehead on the ground and sniffling. He'd lost his chance. His _one chance_. The memory made his sight shoot back open, turning to look at his leg, coming alive with a throbbing pain all at once.

He whimpered at the swollen sight of it, blue and purple completely splotching over his left calf, trailing up through his veins to his knee. Across each side of his leg was a clear indentation from the trap's clamp, the arches still visible even after the night had passed. He tried shifting his legs, hissing at it protesting angrily against him. Kyle winced, moving his left ankle in the slightest and sighing in relief. His leg wasn't broken, but it didn't take a goddamn doctor to figure out there was some nerve damage he was going to be suffering through.

"Bout fucking time you woke up," that voice broke through the air. Kyle shot his head up, seeing Craig sitting against the wall with Lila, staring at him angrily. The redhead narrowed his eyes right back, trying to move away but his leg refusing to cooperate. Craig slowly got to his feet, grey never breaking from bruised green as he crept ever closer. "I was _nice_ to you," he snapped.

Kyle stared up at him, barely having the energy to _think_ of arguing, regardless of his inability to speak. Craig kneeled down in front of him, grabbing his hair and yanking him up onto the sides of his legs, watching him scream in anguish as he pulled him up against him. He let his fingers fall flat against his hair, gently stroking through the curls. Kyle mumbled his protests, trying weakly to back away before Craig's strong grip forced him to keep in place against his chest.

"You _promised_ to stay," he reminded him flatly, sharply tugging on a curl. "You promised to behave, too," he frowned. "I don't _like_ being lied to or disobeyed, Broflovski," he said, Kyle catching the dangerous edge in his voice and his breath hitching. He cringed as Craig lied his chin on his head, continuing to tousle his loose curls. "You could be so _happy_ if you'd be good." Kyle shook his head, whining as Craig pulled him in closer, a deep, hot breath rustling through his hair. He shivered at the fingers dropping and slowly tracing along the collar on his neck, feeling that damn chain keeping him to the pole weighing him down more than ever before.

"Some dogs learn through rewards," Craig started casually, smirking at Kyle's jaw trembling against him. " _Some_ have to learn through punishment. _You_ seem to fall into the latter," he said, slowly grasping around the back of Kyle's neck and digging his fingers into the sensitive skin. Kyle's breath stopped as Craig ripped him back and stared him down, all of a sudden feeling so _very_ small against that granite stare. Craig was the seemingly immoveable mountain collapsing into a landslide, and Kyle was the unsuspecting anthill innocently seated within his path.

"Now," Craig began again, reaching down and grasping at his ass, relishing in the muffled panic radiating from the redhead as he listlessly squirmed. Craig smirked, sliding his hand down past the waistband of his boxers, gripping into the firm skin and hiking him closer. He moved his head down, moving Kyle to bare his neck for him. Kyle fought exhaustively as Craig moved into the crook of his neck, breathing in that minty, earthy scent that was so a part of the redhead. The tinge of metal and dirt sprung up along his natural musk, a lethal combination of sensuality and fear that pierced Craig's senses with a gusto. He moved his lips just above the collar, lightly latching on and suckling the intoxicating flesh, feeling Kyle's throat vibrate with his scared, furious whimpers. He grinned, pulling away and flicking the beginning purple hickey on his skin with his tongue. "Wouldn't you rather have that than _this?"_ his content face falling into a scowl. He socked Kyle in the jaw, watching him fall back onto the cement with a cut cry, his head rebounding off the hard surface with a loud thud.

Kyle's vision blurred, shoulders shaking as the reality of everything began to seep down into him. He was trapped, he'd wasted his one chance. There was no way Craig would give him that much freedom again. He shut his eyes, yelping as Craig slammed his foot onto his nerve-damaged leg, staring at him sternly. "You need to _behave_ ," he emphasized, digging his foot in deeper. Kyle screamed, trying to wriggle away and shaking his head sporadically. His mind was spinning, his body just _overwhelmed_. He wanted to sleep, he wanted revenge, he wanted Kenny, he wanted _everything_ but what was happening to him in that moment.

Craig stopped bearing his weight down, turning and eyes widening as Lila began to bark from outside the barn. He growled, running behind the post and jumping up into a crook of one of the rafters, snagging a bottle and needle attached to it. He bit his lip, moving and closing the barn door as he uncapped the syringe, quickly making way back to the still reeling redhead and kneeling back down beside him. 5 1/2 milliliters of his yellow poison filled the dispenser and he roughly grabbed Kyle's arm. The boy looked, heart hitching and trying to scramble away, yelling incoherently as Craig shifted to straddle over his hips, holding him down with his weight. He turned the appendage painfully and slammed it against the ground to hold him still, easily slipping the needle into his inner elbow and hopping back up. He grabbed the key for Kyle's leash out of his pocket, hurriedly undoing the latch and swooping Kyle into his arms.

Kyle screamed and thrashed, knowing well enough that he didn't have much time before the world started going blank. He tried bashing his head against Craig, the noirette ignoring him as he made way to the empty water tank. He lifted the lid from the invisible lining about three fourths of the way up the container, letting it fall back as he struggled to keep a grip on the fighting redhead. Kyle's eyes shot around in panic as he was dropped down into the tank, his injured leg landing against the metal and a pained yell whisking through his gag.

Craig frowned, grabbing the tank lid and throwing it back into place, encasing the confused, frightened redhead in complete darkness. Kyle screamed and moved around viciously within his confinement and Craig rolled his eyes at the heavy thumping noise. He had about another minute before Kyle started simmering down. He had to keep whoever was out there occupied.

He hurried towards the door, grabbing his needle and bottle and returning them back into the hidden rafters, straightening out his disheveled clothes and making way out towards Lila. He stepped outside, glancing to see Clyde's van heading up the way and sighed. Stealing another glance in the barn for any evidence, he nodded to himself satisfactorily and shut the door, calling Lila into the back yard with him. He found a stick and threw it, trying to calm his racing heart as he heard the van finally make its way to the top of the hill as Lila ran back excitedly with her prize.

He heard the vehicle doors close and footsteps starting to approach, taking a long, collected breath. He played it just fine for the cops, he could do it here, too.

"Hey," Token's voice perked up.

He turned, giving them a nod, "Hey. Why are you here?"

Clyde shrugged, "Wanted to see you. You've kinda been hiding these past few days."

Craig raised his brow, "I go to work forty hours a week and I just moved. Kind of have a lot of stuff to do."

"That makes sense," Token nodded subtly. He cleared his throat and shifted a bit, "So...did you hear about Kyle?"

The noirette nodded, "Yeah. Cops came to ask me about it," he said, watching Lila run past him and to the three visitors, tail wagging happily at the pets she was receiving.

"Why did you get a restraining order on Kenny and Stan?" Tweek burst out, cringing at the unamused frowns from Clyde and Token.

Craig stared at them, shrugging nonchalantly. "McCormick assaulted me and Marsh was about to. I didn't do anything and I'm not gonna deal with them attacking me without reason."

Token cleared his throat, "Okay, but...Let's face it, we've _all_ assaulted each other at some point in time," he shrugged.

"Look, I'll drop the order when Broflovski is back or found or whatever and McCormick realizes it wasn't me, all right?" he rolled his eyes. "I don't see what's so wrong about me not wanting harassed."

Clyde looked at Token and Tweek, shrugging a bit. "That makes sense." Craig smacked his lips with a disinterested expression, looking down the line at the three of them and his keen mind whirring. Obviously they were sent on a little mission from Kenny and Stan, but that was fine. He had enough reason on his side, and no doubt his little pet was starting to go numb right about now.

"Is that all you wanted?" he questioned, hiking his brow just a tad. They looked at him and Token cleared his throat.

"Craig, can we look in the barn?" he winced.

He frowned, "Why?"

"Just to look, that's all! We forget the layout!" Tweek insisted. The remaining three rolled their eyes. A brain dead monkey could tell that he was lying in panic.

Craig sighed irritably, glancing at his phone's time and tonguing over his lips slowly, trying to buy every second that he could. It had to have been long enough for Kyle to calm down some, but that doubt was still there. "You guys want something to drink first?" he offered blandly. "Then we can check it out."

Token narrowed his eyes just the slightest in suspicion. "Nah, we're good. We just wanna see the barn, Craig."

The noirette scoffed, "So _you_ don't believe me either, huh?"

"Well it's just...you're the only one who hasn't talked about him," Tweek winced. "It's kinda weird."

"Right," Clyde nodded. "Bro, you _know_ we don't think you're crazy, but you're makin' it hard for us not to listen to Ken and Stan."

"You _realize_ that sending someone else to stalk is still stalking," he raised his brow. "Technically they're breaking their order."

Token returned the expression, "So? You got it to stop them from assaulting you, not looking in on you."

"I don't _appreciate_ being suspected of this kind of bullshit," he scoffed. "Figured you three of all people would know me better." They sank down just a bit in guilt and Craig watched them, holding a smirk back from the edge of his lips. "Do _you_ think I did something?" he questioned dryly.

"No, but we'd like you to prove it," Token said firmly, standing awfully tall against the nervously cringing Clyde and Tweek. "Just let us rest the doubt, Craig. If you didn't do anything, you have nothing to hide."

"You're right," he parried automatically. "I don't. Just thought that friends didn't do this shit to each other," he shrugged dismissively, turning and starting to lead them towards the barn. He took a deep breath, knowing that he'd stalled for nearly four minutes. Kyle was no doubt out for the count, and a wave of confidence surged through him, boldly throwing the unlocked barn door open. He sniffed casually, leaning against the wall and watching as the other three stepped in, looking at the cage and chain suspiciously.

Clyde turned to him and bit his lip, "Thought you were _against_ having animals kept outside."

"The barn isn't 'outside'. And I want to get some other animals in here down the way, and I'll need a guard dog," he waved his hand dismissively. "Lila sleeps out here two days a week, the rest in the house. She loves being out here, trust me. She is a collie after all," he reminded them.

"Hm," Token mused, stepping towards the cement and kicking the chain a bit, looking at the blankets inside the cage as Tweek and Clyde split up. Token caught gazes with Clyde, motioning for him to check the hay loft as he began walking around the pole, eyes glancing around curiously. Tweek checked through the horse stalls, flinching at the stall doors creaking. Craig watched them with shady eyes, keeping himself from glancing towards the water tank. He couldn't hear a peep, guessing that Kyle was on a raft floating into the utter nothingness of his subconscious and breathing a sigh of relief.

Clyde frowned at the lack of any clues as he scavenged through hay, sighing and hopping down the ladder back onto the main floor. He looked at the chain and his lips twisted, "That's an _awful_ strong chain for Lila," he commented.

Craig shrugged, "It was on sale for one thing," he said dryly. "And I'll probably be getting a stronger dog down the way. It's plenty light enough it doesn't hurt her," he gestured down to Lila now sitting at his side obediently, watching the others curiously.

Tweek poked his head back around and cocked his head at the light black wrap barely visible around her neck. "What kinda collar does she have?"

"Leather," he raised his brow.

"Butters said you bought chain collars," he blinked.

He sighed in irritation. "Didn't realize that all my purchases had to be fucking explained. Yes, I initially bought chains, but decided against it because of how well trained she is," he crossed his arms firmly. "I took the chains back and bought the leather, is that enough fucking explanation or do you wanna know the prices, too?" he glared.

Token held up his hands, "Craig, we're just asking, all right? We're just worried about Kyle."

"Look, we _all_ wanna know where Broflovski is," he scoffed. "But why aren't _you_ being searched?"

"Because we don't live on an isolated farm or have a restraining order against Kyle's boyfriend," Clyde countered with a shrug. Token looked down at the ground, eyes widening a bit and kneeling down, pretending to untie and re-tighten his shoelace, subtly elbowing Clyde to keep him going and keep Craig distracted. The brunette blinked, "B-besides, you hate Kyle, don't you?"

"No. I _don't_." he bit. "Just because I didn't fucking hang out with him all the fucking time, you all seem to think I have some vendetta against him," he snapped.

Tweek stepped up and bit his lip, "Craig, w-we don't think that," he insisted. "We just wanna know if he's safe."

"Well _I'm_ not the one to be asking, Tweek," he said lowly. "You're wasting time with me. Someone probably grabbed him because McCormick pissed them off or they thought he had money or something from his work clothes."

"They grabbed him in the house," Clyde argued. "Ken and Kyle live decently but not well-off enough for someone to think they're worth a fortune, they would've been able to tell. And there hasn't been any ransom!"

He blinked, shrugging again. "I don't know," he sighed tiredly. "But everyone focusing on _me_ is wasting Broflovski's time, and if there isn't any _ransom_ , then chances are he's in a lot of danger, if not dead already," he said flatly, nearly smirking at the three of them cringing at the thought.

Token got back to his feet and sighed. "Fine, Craig. You're right. We'll leave you alone."

"I didn't say you guys can't come visit," he rolled his eyes. "I'd just appreciate some warning and a reason that _isn't_ looking to convict me for something. Did you guys wanna check out the house, too?" he gestured his thumb out the door.

He shook his head to Clyde and Tweek's surprise. "No, we gotta get goin'. We'll come see you in a few days," he promised, leading the other two past the noirette.

"Bye," he said blankly, turning and leaning against the barn door, watching the hill with an unwavering expression.

"Token, what the hell?" Clyde said quietly, the both of them hurrying to his side. "We didn't check everything!"

He looked at him firmly and took a deep breath. "We didn't _need_ to," he said, making sure they were out of Craig's line of sight and into the van. Reaching into his back pocket, lined with a ziplock as Stan had requested, he tugged the baggie out. He sealed it and held it up for them to see, in the afternoon light, their jaws dropping at the sight of a strand of vibrant, loosely curled red hair.

"Holy _shit_ ," Clyde hissed, looking towards the barn frightfully.

"Get us to the cops. I'll call Ken and Stan," he directed sharply, clutching the bag preciously in his grip. Clyde whipped the van around as quickly as he could in the snow and rode down the hill, the three of them in a complete shock, going along in silence sans Token telling the boys to meet them at the police station.

Craig watched them with a smirk and shook his head, leaning his hand down until Lila came and bopped it with her muzzle. He gently pet over her head, tracing down into the thick fur of her back. "Good girl," he praised, plucking a long curled piece of loose, copper fur from her coat and chuckling to himself, casually tossing it behind him onto the cement floor.


	21. Chapter 21

The group practically burst through the department's door, the receptionist looking with wide eyes before they drooped in the slightest. She was more than able to recognize the strung-out blonde and equally disheveled noirette hurrying beside of him towards her desk. She let out a long, quiet sigh. Her last week had been _full_ of their visits and phone calls. "Hello, Mr. McCormick," she said, eying the other three behind the ringleaders. "There haven't been any developments," she reported dryly.

He frowned, "Great, Lucy, here's a fucking development for you," he said, slamming the plastic bag in front of her on her desk.

She raised her brow. "A bag?"

He held it up again, pointing out the ember curl glistening in the light. "Here's the proof. Get my boyfriend _back_ ," he hissed.

Lucy blinked, grabbing her phone and quickly punching in an extension, staring in bewilderment at the boy in front of her looking nothing short of mad. "Sarge? Can you come up please? It's the Broflovski case again." She hung up the phone and cleared her throat, gesturing to the chairs on the opposite side of the lobby. "Go ahead and sit down, Boys," she directed.

Stan and Token grasped Kenny's arms rooted to her desk and pulled him backwards, his icy eyes locked on the woman seeming so _calm_ about the situation. They pushed him into his chair and each took a side, Tweek and Clyde sitting to the left of Token. "Ken, take a breath," Token directed.

"You realize what you _found_ , right?!" he snapped. "A hair with no _body_."

"Kenny, come on," Stan bit his lip, rubbing his arm. "They'll see the hair, take down Craig, and we'll get Ky back, okay?"

He sighed irritably, hiding his face in his hands. He took a shuddery breath, eyes burning with exhaustion, heart pounding in fear. They hadn't found anything but a _hair_. Where the hell was he?! Was he out in the woods? Did Craig really manage to hide him so well with so little warning? Or was Kyle _already_ past the point of being hidden, out there decomposing while his ghost followed Kenny and screamed at him for what he'd caused. He sniffled, feeling Stan and Token each trying to comfort him, at a loss for what to say.

"I just can't believe it," Clyde said blankly, the other four looking at him as he stared at the ground. "You think you know someone, you know?" he winced.

"Jesus, what if Kyle isn't the first?!" Tweek spat out, clutching at his hair. "What if he's been doing this all our lives?"

"I _highly_ doubt that, Tweek," Token sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly.

"Then why did he have to start with Ky?" Kenny questioned in a whisper, shutting his eyes and sniffling some more. That hair was doing nothing more than throwing him into a deeper pit of misery. Too many possibilities that remained, some new popping up. Nothing seemed to get answered except what he knew all along: Craig was the only one who knew where Kyle was.

"Hello again, Boys," an annoyed voice popped up. They glanced to see Yates and Murphy approaching them, Yates looking far past the point of wanting to talk to them. "Just what is it _this_ time?"

"We have _proof_ ," Kenny finally found his energy again, hopping out of his seat and speeding to Lucy's desk. He grabbed the baggie and handed it to him with a shaking arm. "My friends found this in Craig's barn!"

Murphy raised his brow, taking the bag and holding it up against the light, hazel eyes following the graceful curve of the follicle. He twisted his lips, it definitely seemed to _match_ the descriptions and pictures he'd seen. He dropped it back down and handed it to Yates. "Well?"

Yates 'hmphed', checking out the sample for himself with a scrutinizing eye. He looked back at the group watching him intensively and sighed. "Come on, we'll talk in the interrogation room," he rolled his eyes. He turned on his heel, leading the boys through the department. He grabbed an officer on the way by and handed him the baggie. "Send this to the lab, for the Broflovski case," he said firmly. "I want a comparison to the samples taken from the house." The officer nodded and ran off to do as told, shooting Kenny a marred look of sympathy and suspicion that made the blonde's hair stand on end. Stan gently grabbed his arm, leading him to continue following the officers down the way of the station.

Murphy and Yates grabbed four extra chairs on the way by as they made way into the brightly lit room, waiting for all the nerve-shot boys to pass them in the doorway and handing off the chairs. The men looked from the group to each other questionably as they shut the door and the five others set up on the opposite side of the remaining two chairs for the officers. Yates led the way and the two of them sat down, staring at them intensely, looking for the easiest to break. The jittering blonde with the mis-buttoned shirt was the obvious one to start with.

"All right, Boys, here's how this is going to go," Yates narrowed his eyes. "We're going to ask questions to _direct_ people. And no one is to say anything out of turn, are we clear?"

"Fine, just finish this so you can rescue Kyle," Kenny snapped, sneering slightly as the man shot him a warning look.

"McCormick, you're on thin ice already, I _don't_ want to have to put you back in a cell. Are we clear?" Kenny took a deep breath, his lips setting firmly and looking away. The man nodded, "Good. Now. You there," he pointed to Tweek whose eyes widened. He reached towards the recorder on the table, checking to confirm a blank tape and nodding satisfactorily, leaning back to let Murphy double check before slamming the tape deck down and hitting 'record'. "Your name, Son?"

"Um...T-Tweek Tweak," he blinked.

"No, your _real_ name," he frowned.

"That is!" he insisted, reaching into his pocket and slowly getting out his wallet, moving genially to make damn well sure he wasn't shot. He grasped his State ID and handed it to him, Yate's brow raising.

"Well, I'll be damned. All right," he handed him back the card, Murphy scribbling notes as Yates sighed tiredly. "Tell me, Mr. Tweak, were you one of the ones who found the supposed evidence?"

He nodded slowly, "Y-yeah. We went to Craig's barn."

"And just _why_ did you go?" he asked, shooting Kenny a shady glance.

Tweek licked over his lips and sniffled. "Because we wanna find Kyle. And...and Kenny's _sure_ that Craig took him."

"You're under court order to refrain from contact with Mr. Tucker, McCormick," the man redirected his attention sternly. "Care to explain?"

He took a deep breath, "If it gets Kyle back, I'll fucking go to jail," he said lowly. "I'll rot in fucking prison for the rest of my goddamn life before I let that fuck keep him for himself."

"Cut the dramatic martyr bullshit, Mr. McCormick," he snapped. "You don't get to decide how to work the rules of a court of law."

Kenny blinked, "Do you even _care_ what's happening right now? My scrawny boyfriend is being held hostage by a fucking psychopath and you seem to care more about protecting the psycho!"

"Perhaps you aren't _familiar_ with the phrase 'innocent until proven guilty'," he raised his brow.

"Then stop thinking _I'm_ guilty!" he countered. "I ain't a saint but I didn't touch Kyle!"

"Sir," Token interjected, wincing at the sharp look from the sergeant. "We _volunteered_ ," he lied a bit. "Craig is our best friend," he gestured between himself, Clyde, and the still-trembling Tweek.

"What kind of best friends suspect one another of such a crime?" Murphy questioned.

"We didn't at first," he explained. "But Craig's story just doesn't seem to add up."

Yates nodded a bit, "All right. Name?"

"Token Black."

"All right, Mr. Black," he looked at him expectantly. "Just what doesn't add up with Mr. Tucker?"

He frowned, "Craig has a cage and chain locked to a pole in the barn. He said it's for his dog, but he doesn't keep dogs outside," he said firmly. "Too paranoid of ticks and fleas and shit."

"No ticks and fleas in this season," Murphy pointed out.

"No, instead there's colds, the flu, and pneumonia, which is something _he's_ ranted about to us before," he argued. "Craig manages a damn pet store, he knows better."

Yates shrugged, "Did you think maybe he's lessened on that stance? Some people change when they get a pet that's more acclimated to being outdoors."

Token shook his head, "Craig is stubborn. He thinks he knows best when it comes to his pets. He wouldn't change that stance for this dog, I'm sure of it."

Murphy tapped his pencil on his notepad, looking down the line and directing attention to Clyde. "You were part of the excursion as well?"

He nodded, "Name's Clyde Donovan," he started. "Craig apparently bought chain collars for his dog, Lila, but we went and saw she has a leather collar."

"Okay? So he decided to buy a different collar," Yates rolled his eyes.

"No," he bit his lip. "Craig would never _buy_ a chain collar. He's called them torture devices," he winced. "He's told us what kind of damage it could do to a dog's neck, there's no _way_ he'd buy one in the first place."

Yates sighed, rubbing his temple. "Maybe he bought the wrong one by mistake."

"Our friend Butters said he specially ordered them," he insisted.

"Look," Stan finally interjected, trying to calm Kenny from losing his mind at the inane drivel. "One of our other friends said when we were younger, and even now, Craig stared at Kyle all the time. Apparently he has a thing for him none of us ever noticed. The fucking maniac probably took him because he wouldn't leave Kenny," he gestured to the blonde. "You guys have the hair! That should be _plenty_ enough to go break down the door!"

Yates narrowed his eyes. "Mr. Marsh, do you watch cop dramas?"

He blinked, "Well, I mean sometimes but-"

"Do you know how _grossly_ inaccurate they are?" he cut him off sharply. "You know how law enforcement works, Boys? With lots of paperwork and _lots_ of time. This is a _serious_ charge you're making against Mr. Tucker. Just because you come in here spouting that you found this hair at the suspect's house doesn't mean we're going to bust down the door with guns blazing like this is goddamn Law and Order. In fact, it raises about twenty other possibilities."

"Like what?!" Kenny exclaimed.

Murphy cleared his throat. "Like, how do _we_ know it's from the suspect's home? How do we know you didn't just take it from _your_ home and come in with a false accusation because of a grudge against Mr. Tucker? For that matter, how do we know that, if it _is_ from Mr. Tucker's home, that Mr. Broflovski didn't lose it there when he was there of his own free will? And, most importantly, until the test is run, we won't know if it _is_ Mr. Broflovski's."

Kenny scowled. "IT'S CURLY AND RED!" he shouted. "You know how many curly redheads we have in this town?! TWO. AND ONE IS HIS MOTHER!"

"Mr. McCormick..." Yates warned.

"And I can _guarantee_ that the only curly redhead that Craig knows is Kyle!" he continued desperately. "And Kyle's never been in his barn! He's been in the house but not the fucking barn!'

Murphy sighed, "What if the hair was transferred while Mr. Broflovski was in his home onto Mr. Tucker's person and it was discarded within the barn?" he questioned. "Boys, this isn't so cut and dry."

"Oh my god," Kenny said blankly, leaning back in his chair, jaw slack in defeat as he stared at the desk top. "Kyle's going to die. You're going to be playing with paperwork...and he's going to die."

Yates sighed irritably, "Mr. McCormick, we are doing this the way it's done for everyone. Without clear and concise evidence from _the department_ ," he emphasized to Clyde, Token, and Tweek's angry faces, "Then our hands are _tied_."

"No, _Kyle's_ are tied!" he spat. "You get to go home after your fucking shift and let all this roll off your back until tomorrow! Meanwhile _I'm_ staying at fucking Stan's because I can't bear to go into my own house, and Kyle's out there at Craig's, fucking alone, probably scared and hurt if not worse!" he insisted. " _Please_ just go search it. _Please_ ," he begged.

The sergeant rubbed his temple, wondering why oh why he didn't go home early today. "Look, we're not going to issue a warrant. Not until your sample's results come back," he said sternly.

"And how long will that take?" Stan frowned.

"Three weeks minimum, most likely about a month and a half," he shrugged.

"A MONTH AND A HALF?!" Kenny repeated. "It's already been a week and no one's done anything!"

Murphy shook his head, "Boys, Mr. Broflovski isn't the _only_ person who needs assistance," he said. "Your sample will be expedited to a national lab and reviewed, but he's going to be far down on the list, and there's nothing we can do to speed up the time. Now, maybe it'll take a little less time, since there's a possibility he's still alive he should be moved up a bit on the list, but we can't guarantee it."

"What do we do until then?" Stan asked blankly, jaw trembling.

"You wait. You let _us_ handle it," Yates said sharply. "However, we will be bringing Mr. Tucker in for further questioning. Will that ease you off our backs a bit, Mr. McCormick?"

The blonde exhaled angrily, slapping his hands on the table and standing up, staring the officer down. "No. Because if it goes anything like everything _else_ you've been 'doing' to get Kyle back, he's still going to be gone. Craig could be wearing a sign saying 'I took him' and you _still_ wouldn't fucking get it! Thanks for guaranteeing his fucking death," he spat. He turned on his heel and stormed towards the door, throwing it open and rushing out. The remaining four got to their feet, glaring at the officers and making their way to help the distressed blonde.

The men looked at each other and Yates switched off the tape recorder, shaking his head. "People certainly lose their heads in this situation, don't they, Murphy?" he asked quietly.

"Can you blame him?" his partner questioned softly. "Especially if he _didn't_ do it. Let's face it, he's one of the calmest people we've dealt with in this scenario. He hasn't assaulted any of us yet," he shrugged.

"Only because he wants to stay out of prison," he rolled his eyes. "Can't keep your 'innocent' name if you're behind bars." He sighed, leaning his head back and shaking his head again. "Tell you what, McCormick may be one of the calmer, but he's a giant thorn in my ass right now."

"He's scared, Sarge," he reminded him. "He's dead sure of who did it. And, if Tucker _did_ do it...Then, yeah, he has every right to be angry."

"Oh, don't tell me you still _believe_ his sob story," he looked at him tiredly.

The silver-haired man looked down at his notes and sighed. "I don't know, Sir. All I know is now we have five people telling us this guy did it. If Black, Tweak, and Donovan _are_ Tucker's best friends...then maybe there's more to it than we thought."

Yates rubbed his eyes, getting to his feet. "Fine. Call Tucker. Arrange a time for him tomorrow to meet us here."

"Yes, Sir," he nodded softly, watching his superior walk out the door. The man looked back at his notes, biting lightly into the cedar of his pencil, eyes faintly tracing over scribbled lead lines. Same as always, it seemed; One step forward, two miles back.


	22. Chapter 22

Springs and metal bars were scattered in the living room, stripped nails and bolts separated into innocently marked clear tupperware containers. Craig wiped the sweat from his brow, looking down at his masterpiece and smirking. He glanced to the side of the room, in through the kitchen, seeing Kyle still propped up against the radiator and gone from the world. His eyes were half-lidded and glassy, lips slightly parted as he drifted between trying to fight awake and coasting off to sleep time and again. The warmth of the cast iron behind him could barely be felt, the binds containing him nothing but what seemed to be a natural part of his diaphanous state.

Craig chuckled to himself, looking back at his work and grabbing his power drill from beside him. He sighed tiredly as he fitted a long 5/8" brad point bit to the end and shook his head. So much effort being put into his little misbehaving pup. He couldn't help but smirk a bit. He knew well enough it was worth the struggle. After all, the longer it took to train, the more loyalty he'd procure over time.

The living room came alive with the sound of the drill switching on, Craig making sure the black linen upholstery of the couch was safely out of the way of the maple hiding beneath. He licked his lips, slowly beginning to delve the drill into the wood, watching the shavings catch on the plastic bags aligned tightly under the sofa's frame. He bit his lip, working gradually and precisely, making an array of close, evenly spaced zig-zagged holes down the length of the wood along the bottom half. He flipped his hair out of his eyes, listening to the whirring of the drill, the possibilities he was creating. His stomach twisted with glee, tonguing over his teeth as he made it down to the end of the furniture, removing his bit and switching off the power tool. He lied it beside him, cracking his fingers mindlessly as he looked at his creation.

He gazed over the frame into the gutted innards of the sleeper sofa, eyes gliding to the worn mattress propped against his wall. He'd have to take that to the junkyard himself. Couldn't just leave it at the road without questions possibly popping up. But that could come later. He leaned over the frame, pressing his hand against the wood underneath and bearing his weight down, watching for bend along the metal slats running underneath the bottom. He nodded satisfactorily, reaching to his side and grasping a pair of scissors and a roll of thick solar window screen mesh, eyeing the wood carefully. He unwound the fabric down the length of the sofa, slowly cutting off the roll and grabbing his loose sheet. He reached back behind him, grabbing his grandfather's old staple gun and lining the fabric up against the wood. Carefully, he stapled the mesh down against the wood, curving up the height until over the holes lining the walls and beginning to work his way down the line a few inches at a time, keeping the mesh taut all the while.

He couldn't help but laugh to himself. If he'd worked this hard in shop class back in high school, there was no way he would've walked out of there with a C. But, then again, shop class was right across from Kyle's elective cooking class, and his attention was always 'diverted' looking through the adjacent windows. The fact that he was able to do anything at all was a miracle in of itself.

He finally made his way down the line, rounding the other side and giving a few staples along the bottom of the mesh, tugging it lightly and nodding to himself. He took his scissors once more, cutting off the leftover fabric and tossing it aside.

His ears perked at a long groan, looking back into the kitchen and smiling at Kyle's head lolling around, the Jew trying to bring himself back into full consciousness. He got to his feet, stretching his aching muscles and heading towards him with an amused expression. Kyle's eyes fluttered, barely able to recognize the implications of the legs in front of him. A sudden proud face emerged and he blinked, vision bleary and mind foggily leading him back into the light. "Good news, you only stay out a couple hours with just the Midazolam," Craig announced, stroking his hair softly. Kyle watched him silently, not quite to the point of understanding the words tumbling from those poisonous lips. "Perfect for unexpected visitors, hm?"

Kyle narrowed his eyes slightly, not knowing the words but recognizing the tone well enough. He groaned, trying to back from his touch, head listlessly falling back against the radiator in exhaustion. Craig noticed a small layer of sweat riding Kyle's back and neck, twisting his lips and shaking his head. "Guess you're too warm here," he murmured, snagging the key from his pocket and undoing the leash around his collar. He slowly hefted the boy up into his arms, Kyle listlessly kicking before slumping into his hold, head buried against his shoulder. Craig shuddered, ignoring the overwhelming knowledge that it was the drugs and the drugs alone doing this for him, but it was as good a reason as any. He sat Kyle down beside the couch on a clear patch of carpet, leaning him against the wall. Lila watched them from her bed across the room, wagging her tail at Kyle's presence, stopped by Craig holding his hand up for her to stay put. Too many tools, too much of a possibility of her hurting herself.

"They're trying so _hard_ to find you," he commented off-handedly as he grabbed a long strip of pre-cut acoustic foam and pushed it against the far side of the gutted compartment. He switched out his staple chamber for a set of nails, the mechanism clicking in the silence and he shook his head to himself. "Not nearly as hard as I did, though," he murmured, beginning to nail the foam against the maple. Kyle flinched lightly at each burst of compressed air, unable to match the sound to anything that he was familiar with in his zoned-out state. He stared across from him at Lila, only the word 'safe' seeming to breech through his mind. Craig continued grabbing pre-cut strips and lining the sides and bottom of the hold with the rigid foam, leaving a small gap between two separate pieces for the holes of the front to beam through. He sighed tiredly, finishing his barricade after a good ten minutes and wiping his brow. He looked at Kyle and smirked, "You take a _lot_ of work, you know that?" he asked. He stared at the redhead as his green eyes listlessly raised back into his at the noise, shimmering dully. He took a shuddery breath, "You're worth it, though," he said quietly, grabbing the thin, upended upholstery and lowering it back into place. Kyle watched the gleam of scissors as Craig went back to work, cutting precise, minute tears in the fabric against the hidden air holes, unable to comprehend just what it was he was seeing, only thinking 'run'.

Craig shook his head as he finished going down the line, re-grasping his gun and reloading his staple chamber, pressing the linen back into place and fastening it back against the wood. He groaned as it all fell back into place, leaning back and stretching, his spine popping from its confined position for the last three hours. He looked over at Kyle still staring at him and smirked, moving closer and cupping his chin, gazing into the dim glitter encompassing those eyes and kissing his forehead gently. "Let's test this out," he murmured against the pale skin.

He grasped a few spare blankets snagged from his closet, lying them down along the bottom of the emptied couch. With a gentle tug he pulled Kyle to his side in his arms, slowly lifting him up and lowering him down into the gutted mess. He reached in and undid the gag around his lips, pulling the rag from his mouth and listening to the raspy breath beginning to escape. "Good boy," he licked his lips. He kept his eyes on him as he snagged Kenny's bungee cords from beside him, fastening them to eye bolts secured tightly along the edges of the hold. He carefully strung them across Kyle's body, passing over and under his constrained limbs. Kyle whimpered, lips fumbling uselessly as he tried to half-heartedly jerk from the binding touch. "Just a test," Craig assured him. "You won't stay in there for long." He grasped a pillow from behind him, raising Kyle's head and placing it under his sweat-licked curls. "Good boy," he praised, Kyle staring with wide eyes at the foamed barrier in front of him.

The noirette got to his feet and made it to the other side of the room, taking a long, thick piece of maple secured with the soundproofing on either side and licked his lips. Slowly, he lowered the piece over top of the makeshift cell, enclosing the redhead in complete darkness, much to the boy's distress. He secured it fittingly, the foam perfectly sliding in alongside the inner walls. A form fitting masterpiece. His hands lightly trailed along the sides of the box between the wood and the armrests. Carefully hidden and painted latches lied on each side and two along the back of the box, visible only if one was looking for them.

Kyle's jaw trembled as he heard the metal clinking against wood above him, the shuffle of fabric as cushions were once more set upon the couch. He couldn't understand what was happening, barely able to see light beaming through the thick mesh and miniscule holes in front of him. He whined, trying to shift around in the hold, the cords pressing deeply into his bruised skin, refusing to let him budge. His eyes flickered around in fear, breath seeping out through the air holes. He whimpered as a shadow blocked his minimum light, trying to back away and stopped short with a wince from his throbbing leg.

Craig leaned against the couch, listening carefully against a hold. He heard the clear sound of Kyle's breathing, panicked as it was, feeling the sharp air bursting through the spot closest to his mouth. Craig grinned, hearing him whining loudly in upset through the space. He sat up and slowly lowered himself onto the couch, feeling the lack of give and smiling to himself, swinging his legs up and lounging in silence, listening carefully for any sign of Kyle's sound. The barest essence of cries breeched the stoic air and he nodded to himself. If anyone came over, movement would drown out his noise no problem. A portable air conditioner itself near the couch may do the trick entirely.

He smiled, looking as Lila slowly meandered towards him, carefully avoiding the parts on the ground and looking at him wistfully. He snorted, patting his legs. She panted happily, jumping on top of him and crawling up his stomach, lying her head down on his chest and wagging her tail excitedly. He slowly pet her head, Kyle's sounds drowned out by her mere breathing. "Are you jealous I'm making him more things than you?" he teased, rubbing her ear gently. She licked his hand and he chuckled. "I'll make you some chicken tonight, I'm sure you'll forgive me then," he murmured, running his fingers through her heavy coat and scratching along her skin lovingly.

He jerked as his hip vibrated, carefully shifting with the dog on top of him to commandeer his phone from his pocket. He raised his brow at the unfamiliar number and swiped it open. "This is Craig," he said dryly, unamused at his moment being so very _rudely_ interrupted.

" _Mr. Tucker, this is Officer Murphy from the South Park Police Department."_

Craig narrowed his eyes, continuing to tousle Lila's fur. "How are you this evening, Sir?" he asked.

" _I'm just fine, Mr. Tucker, thank you. We were wondering if we could get you to come in tomorrow for questioning."_

"About Broflovski?" he asked with a smirk.

Murphy cleared his throat, _"Yes. Some developments have come about and we're getting all angles that we can. We've already gone through most on the list, and our talk with you was rather informal."_

"Yeah, that's just fine," he said nonchalantly. "Any particular time you'd like me over there?"

" _How's 2?"_

He nodded to himself, "Sounds fine. I'll see you then. Good night, Sir," he said, waiting for the officer's reply before hanging up and bouncing the phone in his hand. He leaned his head back against the armrest, letting the room fall back into quiet sans Kyle's still occasionally audible noises. He sighed happily, looking around at the mess of tools and parts to clean up, knowing that everything depended on his answers tomorrow, that the little redhead trapped in his couch was on his thread, teetering on the edge of being cut if he wasn't careful. He nestled down into the cushions, petting Lila's happy head. It was _beyond_ worth it.


	23. Chapter 23

Kyle watched with a dark glare as Craig casually ate his lunch, scanning through the newspaper in boredom as he did so. The redhead shifted against the radiator, looking down at the tile angrily. His sight flickered to his battered leg and he took a shaky breath. This was it. He couldn't run. Walking was hard enough when Craig had forced him back into the kitchen the night before, giving him the 'freedom' to sleep atop a thin blanket against the heat source for 'being so well behaved'. Kyle shuddered, leaning his head back and letting the back of his neck press against a warmed slat.

Craig was figuring this out too well. He'd figured out just how much time he needed to bring him down, just where to hide him. At the rate he was going with finding places to stow him away, Kyle wouldn't be surprised if he woke up shoved into the insulation of the walls. This was just nothing short of maddening.

"Another story in here about you," Craig remarked out of left field, the redhead shooting angry eyes over towards him as he munched on his ham sandwich. "Local Boy's Family Still Requests Assistance'," he dictated. "'22 year old Kyle Broflovski is still missing after being taken from his home last Monday...'" he smirked. "'Pictured here on left with _boyfriend Kenneth McCormick_ '," he taunted, holding up the paper for him to see. Kyle's heart sank, staring at his and Kenny's happy faces, a picture snapped by Bebe at a summer party she'd thrown a year prior. Kyle was seated on Kenny's lap, laughing as the blonde kissed his cheek. The redhead remembered brokenly how he'd called him a raging queer for weeks with that picture, especially when Kenny started carrying it around in his wallet. The blonde had told him he shoved it in people's faces when they told him they didn't believe he'd 'roped a trophy'. He'd blow up the fucking sun if he could get that brand of ridiculous cheesiness from Kenny again.

Craig took the paper back and continued on, "'If anyone has information pertaining to Broflovski, please contact his parents Sheila or Gerald, Kenneth McCormick, or the South Park Police Department.'" he finished. He tossed the paper back onto the table and chuckled, "Not as touching as the one from a few days ago, huh?" he quirked his brow. "Or the news story when your mom was crying?" Kyle blinked at him before his teeth gritted and he growled lowly. "Oh, right, you missed it since you were out in the barn when you didn't know how to behave," he chuckled. "She was a _mess,_ Brof, let me tell ya. Your brother didn't look much better."

"WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?!" Kyle finally broke, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. "That's my fucking family!"

He shrugged, "And? Your family's always been a pain in the ass."

"You _realize_ that if I _had_ gone against anyone's better judgement and been okay with dating _you_ of all people, they'd be a part of your fucking life," he said bitterly. " _Kenny_ loves my family, and they love _him_."

He scoffed, "Please."

"Oh, it's true," he said primly, turning back around and looking back at the floor. "My mom invites him to every family function. My dad calls him _Son_. And Ike always wants him for his video game partner. You know who _you_ are to them? Even _before_ this bullshit? 'That Tucker boy that you should avoid'," he quoted his mother huffily. "A no good piece of trash."

Craig turned in his chair, looking at him with a hiked eyebrow. "I'm trash," he repeated. "Not that blonde fuck who literally rolled out of the gutter."

"It's amazing isn't it?" he hissed, looking at him sharply. "Comparing you two and your upbringings. Kenny came from literal shit and is an amazing person. You came from a fucking middle class home with a supportive family and you turned out to be a fucking maniac."

Craig leaned his cheek into his palm, staring at the fuming boy amusedly. "And yet I'm the one who got you in the end," he taunted.

"You didn't _get me_ ," he spat. "Someone _will_ find me," he insisted angrily, forcing more tears from breaking through his lashes.

"Well, we've had a total of seven people come in looking for you and they didn't find shit," he smirked. Kyle looked at him confusedly and he chuckled, "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot to mention: Token, Tweek, and Clyde came over to search for you. Didn't find _shit_ ," he grinned deviously, watching Kyle's shoulders sinking. "I get to go talk with the cops today. You know what's gonna happen?" he raised his brow. "If I can convince them that all's well and good on my end, after _so_ many searches and _so_ much attention on me being dismissed, I'm going to be in the clear," he grinned smugly, Kyle's eyes widening worriedly. "Between my name being cleared and that blonde prick and your other boyfriend not able to come near me, you're _stuck_ ," he emphasized.

Kyle's lip trembled, "Then I'll get myself out."

"With your leg fucked up like it is?" he raised his brow. "Broflovski, the closest house is fifteen miles away." Kyle sank lower and Craig chuckled softly, getting to his feet and stretching. "So, are you wanting to stay in here or the barn?" he asked cooly.

He scowled, "I want to go the fuck home." He flinched as Craig turned and stared at him darkly, curling up against the radiator. "Here," he whispered, cursing himself for the influx of fear assaulting him.

Craig straightened up and nodded curtly, "Good. Then you have something to do," he raised his brow. Kyle blinked, looking as Craig kneeled down in front of him. "You know what happens when you disobey, right?" he said dryly. Kyle's face darkened and Craig snatched his chin, shaking him. "Answer me," he warned.

"Yes," he hissed, indulging his rage, letting it seep in the limited space between them. It lessened the humiliation if only by a fraction, but every little bit was welcome at this point.

"Then here's what we're gonna do:" he said slowly. "Your chain is long enough for you to have access to the entirety of the kitchen," he gestured around. "And _I_ think it's time for you to start _earning your keep_." Kyle growled at the phrase, stopped only when Craig shook him roughly and bashed his head against the radiator. "After all, you 'go _crazy_ with nothing to do', right?" he smirked self righteously.

He sneered, "I'm not doing _shit_ for you." Craig narrowed his eyes as he belted on, "I do things for Kenny because I _care_ about him! You could come up to me with your fucking arm chopped off and I'd just _laugh_ ," he hissed. The noirette's face took a dangerous turn and Kyle's confidence faltered, remembering all at once that he didn't have use of his arms, and Craig had a hold of his face. He screamed as Craig shoved him to the side, sending him smashing against the cabinets and landing on his hip in a groaning pile trying to curl in on himself.

Craig stood and grabbed a utensil from a glass container atop the countertop, kneeling back down beside him and yanking him back, shoving him onto his stomach. Kyle cursed, wriggling around and shooting his head over towards his assaulter. The dulled glimmer of a heavy stainless steel pasta fork in his hand nearly stopped his heart in an realizing, regretful frenzy. "So," Craig said simply, moving over and pinning down his legs, exerting extra pressure on the left just to watch his eyes well with tears. "Did you know my little sister got most of my grandma's cooking supplies?" he asked casually. "There were a _few_ things she didn't want though. Like _this_ little piece," he said, gripping the bottom of his shirt and yanking it up under Kyle's bound arms, shoving the hem down over his head and eyes. Kyle whimpered, feeling the cool, pointed tips of the metal ever-so-slowly grazing his back. "Too heavy and bulky for her kitchen," he said with an eye roll. "Passing up a nice hunk of metal for some dingy plastic shit that'll break in a year or two."

"Stop," Kyle croaked.

"Maybe you should take that advice," Craig raised his brow. " _Stop_ and _think_ before you speak," he hissed, rearing his hand back and bringing the tool down onto Kyle's infraspinatus muscle, watching with a sick glee as it easily broke skin, tearing it down on impact and going at it again.

"STOP!" he screamed, lurching up with each blow. He hissed as it smacked between his shoulder blades, practically feeling the hit echoing down his spinal cord. Tears welled, his throat clenched, and he felt on the brink of vomiting with every attack. Craig watched hungrily, the reverberation of Kyle's screams echoing around his small kitchen music to his ears. Blood, red and pure like the very boy's hair slid so fluidly down the slim muscle, fought to ride the ridges of his slightly protruding spine. Soft, pliable skin and tissue was open to his whim; Kyle was his own creation to mark however he saw fit. The old Kyle was given nothing but an array of kiss and lick marks to coat his profile. Not this time. There was so much _more_ that Craig could extort from him, so many colors to be brought out and shared. Neon blood, muted bruises, diamond tears; Each blending to make the redhead into the ultimate portrait of defiance gone awry; the poster child of one who didn't understand his place.

He brought a final, heavy blow onto his shoulder, scraping it down the way to Kyle's hip and listening to his scream follow the length with a shudder. He brought the utensil up, staring at the tips of the prongs gleaming rubies, directing his attention down to the scratched disaster of Kyle's back. He watched his shoulders heaving in sobs, his restrained fists clenching and unclenching trying to redirect his nerves somewhere else. "Do we understand?" Craig asked smoothly, taking the shirt and putting it back down over the wounds, the hiss escaping Kyle's lips delectable beyond compare. "Well?" he turned Kyle's head.

The redhead sniffled and nodded, just wanting him to leave, to get away from him, let him recover his composure and try to scramble back some of his pride.

Craig smiled, sitting him up and tossing the fork into the sink, yanking Kyle up higher with a cry. "So, what are you going to do?" he asked, placing a finger under his chin and turning him towards himself.

Kyle's lip trembled, his eyes shining with a beautiful inanition that made Craig's heart nearly skip a beat. "Earn...my...keep," he forced out, so desperately wanting to avoid being hit again.

"Good boy," he grinned widely, swiping his flip knife and slicing through the zip ties of Kyle's wrists, shoving it back into his pocket before the boy could try to take it from him. Kyle lethargically brought his arms around front, staring at the mutilated mess of his wrists and gulping. The wounds were deep. If they healed without a scar, it'd be a fucking miracle. "Look at me," Craig ordered. The redhead looked at him defeatedly, letting Craig pet through his hair with only a slight flinch. "Make us some dinner for when I get home tonight and you'll be rewarded," he directed. "I'll be back at nine. And before you go getting ideas," he rolled his eyes, "all cleaning supplies and anything _else_ you could use to poison me are out of the room and your reach. And those knives aren't gonna cut this chain," he grabbed the steel and waved it in front of him. "All food has been inventoried, so, you eat anything that I don't specifically give you, and you'll be _begging_ for your little forked friend again. Got it?"

Kyle nodded silently, jerking his head away back to the floor as Craig got to his feet. He took a shaky breath as Craig patted his head again. "Give me a minute," he said, walking out of the room, leaving Kyle to sit alone with his throbbing back and his shaking hands. The boy gulped, looking down at said hands. A cold sweat broke through his palms, his fingers were twitching spastically with fear and pain. He'd never felt like this before. Never had his fury been overshadowed by such _terror_. He didn't know what to do, didn't know what he _could_ do. The thought of being helpless, being trapped with Craig forever...He clenched his eyes shut and shook his head. No. No, he _couldn't_ think like that. Kenny would get him out. Or the police. Or Stan. Or himself. _Someone_ was going to rescue him, they just _had_ to.

He looked back up as Craig stepped back into the kitchen, throwing a wet hand towel at his knees. "You may wanna put that on your back," he said nonchalantly. "Nine o'clock," he reminded him. "I'd suggest you don't forget," he warned. He pointed to the kitchen door and smirked, "Also, you should probably know, that door now has a lock on the _outside_. So it isn't budging." Kyle's face paled and he smiled, grabbing his plate with his half eaten sandwich and putting it on the floor for him. He kneeled down and kissed him, smiling at Kyle not even having the energy to move away. "Have a nice day," he said, standing back up and making his way to the front door. Kyle blinked after him, teeth clattering against each other as he trembled.

He loosely grasped the wet towel, glancing down at the measly half-meal marred by Craig's teeth and being hungrily eyed by Lila across the kitchen. He sniffled, clutching the damp fabric in his hands and looking towards the window. He bit his lip, getting to his feet with some effort, putting a hand on the radiator for support. Slowly, he pried apart some of the stapled fabric of the thermal curtains, glancing at the pane through the small slit and looking towards the wooden frame.

Nailed shut. He figured.

He re-situated the curtain, looking to an array of pots dried on the countertop. He _could_ take one and break the pane...but _then what?_ He couldn't get out of the chain. He couldn't run. He couldn't do _anything_ but have Craig beat him within an inch of his life when he got home. Slowly and stoically, he dropped back to his knees on the floor. He genially brought the back of Craig's shirt up once more, letting it catch on his chain as he shoved it over his head and around his upper arms. He awkwardly grabbed the towel and opened it, hissing as he draped it across his wounded back and lied down on the floor beside the radiator.

Sniffling, he grabbed Craig's 'gift' and took a slow bite from the uneaten end, resting his cheek down on the floor. Someone was going to rescue him, he _would_ get free. But, whoever was going to be his knight, one thing was clear: They needed to stop taking their time getting around to doing it.


	24. Chapter 24

Craig sighed, leaning back in his chair in the emptied room and smacking his lips in boredom. He glanced around at the white walls, a quick gaze falling over the one-way mirror. He shook his head. This was nothing more than a waste of his time. He could've spent more time at home, making sure Kyle was finding his way about well enough. Instead he was stuck _here_ before he trudged off to work. It was a tragic misuse to say the very least.

He looked over as the door opened, Yates and Murphy coming in and eying him carefully. He'd seemed nonchalant enough through the looking glass, but only talking could get them any closer to what they needed. "Mr. Tucker," Yates nodded.

"Sirs," he nodded back. The two of them took a seat, watching Craig's unreadable grey eyes and cursing to themselves. He had the expression of the suspect they hated the _most_ : He was stone, only able to be broken with the most precise of chisels. Craig looked between the both of them, his leg bouncing impatiently. "You had questions for me?" he asked cooly.

"Yes," Yates said, pressing record on his tapes and leaning back, staring at him questionably. "State your name."

"Craig Tucker."

"All right, you were the last known to see Mr. Broflovski, Mr. Tucker," he said firmly. "We need to know _exactly_ what happened when you went over on that day."

He tongued over his teeth, noting a piece of bread caught in his back molars. A petty nuisance. "Well, like I told you before, the two of us decided to try to be friends."

"So you were enemies?" Murphy interjected.

He shook his head. "Nah. We weren't anything. But McCormick was my friend and his boyfriend, so it made sense that we should at least _attempt_ to get along," he shrugged.

"What was your relationship with Mr. Broflovski?" Yates asked.

Craig took a sip of the coffee they'd so kindly given him, licking over his lips. He looked down at the cup, "Not really one to describe. We were aware of each other's existences, but that was about it."

"You were classmates since you were preschoolers and you didn't have _any_ relationship with him?" Murphy hiked his brow.

"We didn't have a lot in common," he looked back at him straight on. "I kept to myself or with my own friends he liked to bury his face in books and on McCormick's cock."

"Hm," Murphy mused, narrowing his eyes just slightly as he looked down at his notepad. "What was your friendship with Mr. McCormick like?"

He glanced between the both of them, stifling a yawn at this ridiculous conversation. "I mean, we were smoking buddies and watched football together now and then."

"Smoking as in pot?" Yates crossed his arms and looked at him sternly, more of an expression than Craig's own father ever gave him.

He chuckled, "No. Cigarettes. McCormick likes his pot and I tried it a few times but never together. He saved his stash for himself and Broflovski."

"So you're saying the two of them are drug users?" he urged, mind whirring with the possibilities.

Craig blew his bangs out of his face, "To my knowledge, they cut down once they started work. They're idiots, but they're responsible idiots," he shrugged. "McCormick told me once Broflovski had a pretty bad trip and they started only using it over vacations when they were relaxed...or when they wanted to have 'pot sex'," he rolled his eyes. He wanted to vomit as that awful talk came back to him.

" _It feels_ _ **amazing**_ _"_ Kenny had told him. _"Dude, seriously, try it. Kyle's mouth felt like fucking satin or some girly shit and our neighbors nearly called in a noise complaint because he felt so good. Seriously. Try it."_ He held a smirk back. Maybe he _would_ take the advice down the line. After all, he lived far enough from town _no one_ would call the cops on Kyle's noises.

Murphy sighed through his nose, watching Craig for any signs he'd usually pick up on. Instead, he found himself across from a very relaxed individual casually drinking coffee and talking to them like they were merely discussing a damn ball game. "Back on topic," he started, "What happened the day Mr. Broflovski disappeared?"

Craig looked up 'thoughtfully'. "Well, I went over to just chat and to see if I could borrow some of McCormick's bungee cords. Figured if he got all touchy that I was trying to befriend him without McCormick there I had an excuse to get my stuff and get out, ya know," he shrugged. "Um, I went in and he was like...sweating," he winced.

"Sweating?" Yates repeated.

He nodded, "He'd been cleaning and cooking like crazy all day. He made some offhanded comment about how he was tired of being a housewife. I could tell that he just didn't want to deal, so I got the cords and left. Told him to call if he needed anything," he shrugged.

"You said you asked about his wrists," Murphy reminded him.

Craig blinked and nodded again, "Yeah. I noticed the cuts. He was on a mini rant about how McCormick was treating him. When he gets huffy he moves his arms around a lot," he did so himself as demonstration. "I noticed and asked if he was hurting himself. He got all red and huffy and told me it wasn't my business. And he was right, it wasn't, so I left."

"Mr. Broflovski has never had a history of depression," Yates remarked.

He shrugged, "Well, there's always a possibility it started and he didn't get diagnosed or some shit, right? Or maybe he _didn't_ hurt himself and it was just one of his and McCormick's little bondage escapades."

"Bondage escapades," Murphy repeated.

He took another sip of coffee, "Broflovski would have rope burns and shit all over him, especially about half a year after they started dating. He gave up trying to even hide 'em after a few months," he waved his hand dismissively. "He'd have bruises and bite marks and looked like a fucking mess."

"But it wasn't abuse?"

"Not as far as I can tell," he answered. "But like I said, I didn't know him well enough. But I figure if it _was_ , Marsh would've beaten the shit out of McCormick."

Yates tongued over his lips, "So who are your friends, Mr. Tucker?"

"Clyde Donovan is my best friend," he replied. "Token Black and Tweek Tweak are pretty damn close. We usually hang out the four of us."

Murphy looked at Yates and the sergeant nodded in permission. "And...have you seen them recently?" the man asked casually.

He scoffed, "Yeah. They came to see if _I_ had Broflovski."

"And did you let them search the premises?" Yates asked.

"Yeah. Not like I have anything to hide. I don't _like_ that my best friends all think I'm some kind of psychopath, but if it helps 'em sleep at night, I guess."

Yates leaned on the table and folded his hands, looking at Craig sternly. "They found a red hair in your barn, the barn which Mr. Broflovski has never been in. Care to elaborate?"

He cocked his brow, "I have a dog. With red curly fur. She's a collie, she sheds like crazy."

"Ah yes, _Lila_ ," Murphy quoted Clyde, the noirette's attention shifting back to him. "We were told that you don't like having dogs outside. Why let your dog out there? Especially in this weather?"

"Well, flea and tick season is over," he shrugged dismissively. "And I have a space heater and blankets in there for her. Like I said, she's a collie, a _barn_ dog _._ She likes to be outside, but I'm only letting her out there two times a week."

"Makes sense," Yates nodded. "Sounds like you care about your animals."

"I do," he smirked. "Pets keep you grounded. Make you feel needed. When you live alone and all you do is work, you need that."

Murphy tapped his shoe lightly on the ground, "Any other animals?"

"A guinea pig, Argyle," he shrugged. "But that's it. I'm looking at maybe getting another dog down the line. Maybe some goats," he chuckled. "I have the room for it, and the more pets the better."

"So...who's the chain collar for then?" he asked.

Craig blinked, "I'm sorry?"

Yates tilted his head, "We were told you bought chain collars, even though you _know_ the damage they can do. Can you help us understand that?"

He nodded, "Easily. I manage a pet store as I'm sure you know," he gestured to them. "There's these special collars called 'fur savers'. They're less harsh against the throat and protects dogs from having their fur ripped out. I bought it for Lila but realized I felt weird putting it on her, despite my research, so I opted out and bought a leather one."

"We hear tell you bought more than one," Murphy questioned. "Any reason?"

"I like having a spare collar," he shrugged. "Sometimes collars snag or break and you're a mess worrying the next time the dog needs to go out that they'll run off and no one will know where to return them."

Yates nodded, "So, you returned them."

Craig made a small 'mhmm' sound, slowly reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone, setting it on the table. "Let me see if my bank has it listed," he said casually. "I get how weird it sounds, but I'm pretty indecisive about my pets, to be honest," he winced.

"Please, do," Yates nodded, thanking his lucky stars if he didn't have to go into the store and scour through card listings.

Craig clicked his tongue as his bank's app popped up, feeling an excited twist in his stomach as he scrolled through his statement. "Ah, here you are," he said, lying the phone down and sliding it towards the men. "Two weeks back."

Yates picked up the phone, looking at the deposit from the store for $12.49, another transaction following right after for $13.87. "How expensive are these 'fur savers'?" he asked.

"'Bout $12," he answered.

"So, you only returned one?" he asked, handing him back the phone.

He nodded, "I opened the other one. I run the store, I know our return policy. You open it, you keep it," he shrugged. "I tossed it out."

"But you only bought one leather collar? What happened to having two at a time?"

He raised his brow, "We only had the one in stock," he slid his phone back over and scrolled it up, another transaction of $13.87 highlighted. "Got it the next truck day."

"Ah," he nodded, looking at Murphy who took the phone and scrolled through a bit, thumb tapping rapidly with dull eyes. He looked over, sighing at the 'well now what' look the sergeant was clearly giving him.

The silver-haired man bit his lip, closing out of the phone and handing it back to the boy. Craig had an answer for everything. It all made _sense_. Something here just didn't seem to click, though, and he couldn't put his finger on it. "Mr. Tucker, did you have any romantic involvement with Mr. Broflovski?" he asked suddenly.

Craig recoiled, cocking his brow and his mouth falling open a bit. "Uh, no. Trust me. There was never anything romantic between us."

"Did you ever _wish_ there was?" Yates pushed.

He shuddered for effect, "No. Broflovski is way too stubborn for me to tolerate for more than a football game."

"Then why are you trying to get along with him?" Murphy narrowed his eyes.

"Same reason I told him, for McCormick. He was caught between the both of us and I figured that if we could get along, we wouldn't be having McCormick tearing his hair out trying to bounce back and forth between us," he shrugged.

Yates 'hmm'd'. "You were awfully _quick_ to stick such a 'good friend' with a restraining order."

"Because I don't want punched in the face," he said dryly. "As soon as Broflovski is found, I'm dropping it. I just don't want to be harassed just because someone wasn't my best friend."

The men nodded, looking at each other and their shoulders sinking a bit. "All right," Yates said. "I think that's all we need, Mr. Tucker. Thank you."

Murphy called for the door to be opened, Craig getting to his feet and snagging his coffee. He shook both their hands and nodded, "If there's anything else I can do, just give me a call," he assured them.

"Will do, thank you," Yates repeated, both of them watching as Craig walked out the door and was led through the hallway out of their sight. They looked at each other and Yates shrugged. "Seems on the up-and-up to me."

"Yeah..." he said slowly, looking at his notes and twisting his lips. "Something he said though is bothering me."

"Oh?" he hitched his brow, leaning his cheek into his palm and watching the man's brain whirring.

He looked at his superior and frowned, "He said he told Broflovski to call him if he needed anything. Broflovski's number wasn't in his phone when I checked his contacts."

He shrugged, "Okay, so?"

"Well, usually if you tell someone that, you exchange numbers so you know to pick up. Especially if its for a serious situation like he's implying...right?" he winced.

Yates crossed his arms, "You want to convict a man based on his contact list?"

"No," he sighed tiredly. "I'm just saying that it struck me as odd, that's all."

"Well, he seemed fine to me. Perfectly honest about everything," he brushed his receding hair back into place as it tried to frizz under his hand. "I think it's time to turn our efforts elsewhere."

Murphy frowned, "Like who?"

"McCormick," he said plainly, looking down and missing his partner's shoulders slumping exhaustively. "I want someone stationed outside of Marsh's house at all times keeping an eye on him," he said firmly. "He's going to go back to the kid at some point, I'm sure of it."

"Sir, I really don't think that's neces-" he stopped at a sharp look from his commander, sighing to himself. "Yes, Sarge."

"Good," he nodded, slapping his back and getting to his feet. "We'll figure this out eventually, Murphy," he promised, waiting for him to stand as well and the both of them making way out of the room. Murphy followed closely behind, still staring at his notepad. They made it to the front of the department building, Murphy glancing through the window and seeing Craig's truck, the noirette climbing in it. He blinked, unable to tell for sure from the distance, but a small chill crept up his neck at what he swore was a smug grin set on the boy's face.

* * *

Craig stepped back through his front door at 9:30, assaulted by a heavenly smell as soon as he crossed the threshold. He grinned, re-locking the door's bolts and petting Lila as he greeted him, hurrying towards the kitchen. He looked to see a dish of chicken and rosemary potatoes steaming from a hotpad on the table, glancing to see Kyle staring at him from sitting between the radiator and counter with wide, deadened eyes. Craig was back. The cops didn't fucking _catch him_.

Craig leaned against the doorframe and smirked. "All right. You know the knife block and utensil containers?" he asked casually, Kyle nodding softly. "When you're untied, you're to put them on the table and sit over there," he raised his brow. "You're going to have to _prove_ that you're not misbehaving. Understand?"

Kyle took a shaking breath, knowing that his naive notion of 'if I don't move then he can't come in' wouldn't get him anywhere. He glanced to see that air of impatience beginning to stir through Craig's eyes and sniffled, shakily using the warm metal to aid him up to his feet. He limped towards the counter, wincing at each ounce of pressure exerted on his left leg. Craig watched happily as Kyle grabbed both of the requested items and set them on the table, backing away from them. "Now, shake your clothes," he ordered. Kyle growled, angrily grabbing bits of fabric and rustling them to and from his skin, wincing at the cotton of Craig's shirt slapping against his clotted wounds.

Craig nodded satisfactorily, grabbing the knife block and container and setting them in the living room out of Kyle's reach. He walked in, Kyle backing away back into his corner and sliding down the wall, watching with wide eyes as the noirette approached him. Craig kneeled down in front of him and smiled lovingly, running a hand through his curls. " _Such_ a good boy," he praised. "And how was your day?" Kyle stared at him with a trembling lip, yelping as Craig pushed him against the wall.

"It was fucking _fantastic_ ," he hissed. "I _love_ being chained up and forced to cook for you," he jerked his head out of his hand, entire body quaking.

Craig chuckled, "Good. Because judging on how it went today, you'll get to do it for a _long_ time," he purred. Kyle's pupils shrank, freezing in place as Craig fondled his hair and face. "Looks like I'm out of the light, and your dipshit boyfriend is right back to suspect numero uno," he smirked.

Kyle shook his head, pressing himself flat against the wall and looking away from the boy, absolutely _refusing_ to let him see the frightened tears welling in his eyes. This couldn't be happening. They _had_ to have seen through his bullshit. They couldn't _do this_.

"Come on, Broflovski, it's a _good_ day," he taunted. "You finally know for sure just where you belong. I think that's a reason to celebrate, don't you?" he asked, fingers tracing down to his hip bone and grasping his slender waist, listening to the panicked gasp as Kyle flailed, trying to shove him away. He rolled his eyes, grabbing his bony wrists and snapping them together, slamming them above his head against the wall with one hand. Kyle watched him worriedly, groaning as Craig kissed his neck. "Hm, maybe tomorrow," Craig purred hotly. "I think tonight we just eat and give you another bath," he smirked.

"Goddammit, stop! You crazy fuck!" he screamed, hissing at the fingers delving into his torn wrists. He looked to see that scolding look in full force. "I...I-I..." he stammered, confidence dropping like a bomb. He glanced down, seeing Craig's fist curling, ready to strike. He yelped as he raised it up towards his face. "I'm sorry!" he squeaked in panic, cringing down as far as he could.

Craig hesitated, a small smirk creeping up his lips. "Come again?" he urged in glee.

Kyle could _feel_ his pride finally snapping fully in half. But the need to survive, to not be beaten was prevalent at last, aching body _begging_ him to deal with the words for now. It was tolerate them or be a lifeless, breathing corpse under Craig's fist. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He sniveled as Craig dropped his wrists, cupping his chin and stroking his cheek bones.

" _Good_ ," he commended, wiping a tear from his lashes and kissing his forehead tenderly. "Tomorrow I have the whole day to spend with you," he murmured against his skin. "We'll make it one we'll _never_ forget."

Kyle's face dropped devastatingly, entire body going slack as Craig got to his feet and began fixing himself a plate from Kyle's work. The redhead stared at his legs as Craig sat down, the clatter of his fork hitting his plate not reaching Kyle's ears. The noirette watched him amusedly, melting at the taste of chicken made just for _him_ by the boy. Kyle sniffled, curling his legs up and wrapping his arms around them, facing away from him, just _unable_ to so much as _look_ at his captor. He lied his head down atop his knees, shoulders shaking and small breathy gasps breaking through his throat under the noise of Craig's utensils as he began to cry.


	25. Chapter 25

The car hadn't moved from in front of the house for hours, and Kenny just couldn't stop staring at it. He didn't even flinch as Stan walked into the house as he arrived from picking up groceries, eyes tracing lazily over the silver SUV parked across the street. "Uh, Ken?" Stan raised his brow. "You all right?"

"The cops are here," he muttered, glaring at the passengers in the vehicle, hoping that they saw the fury over his face.

Stan blinked, walking up next to him and looking out the window, glancing up and down the street as he slid his shopping bags down off his arms onto the floor. "Where?"

He tilted his head up, "There. They've been there for four hours and haven't fucking moved. Haven't gotten out or anything. They're fucking staking me out."

Stan sighed, rubbing his shoulder. "Ken, I'm sure that's not it."

He looked at him and narrowed his eyes, "Stan, they think I killed Kyle. Yates would go ahead and arrest me and put me in the fucking chair if it wasn't for him needing evidence," he rolled his eyes. He groaned, slamming his head against his arms on the window sill.

"The chances of you getting on death row in Colorado is pretty slim, Hon," Wendy said as she emerged from the kitchen.

"Gee. Thanks," he mumbled from his arms. Stan kissed her briskly, making sure to not let Kenny see lest he have another full-fledged breakdown over how much he wanted to kiss Kyle again.

She sat down next to him on the window bench and rubbed his back soothingly. "Sweetie, everything's going to be all right."

He looked at her shadily. "You realize what them showing up _today_ means, right?" She cocked her head and he groaned, "It means they talked to Tucker. And he fucking smooth talked his way out of it. So now _I'm_ back to being the prime suspect."

"Why send someone to stake you out though?" Stan asked, sitting on his opposite side and glaring at the vehicle.

"Because. They think I know where Ky is," he said miserably. "I mean, I _do_ , but I don't know where Craig has him stashed..." he ran his fingers through his unkempt hair and sighed. "They probably think that if I didn't kill him, I'll have to go back and feed him or something," he growled.

Wendy hugged him around his shoulders, rubbing his arm gently. "Ken, we'll find him," she promised.

"How?" he pleaded. "For the love of God, Wendy, you're the smartest person I know besides Kyle. How do I fix this?" he asked desperately.

She bit her lip, glancing between him and the SUV. "I don't know," she replied honestly. "But we'll think of something. That pig-headed dick isn't going to keep him, I promise." Kenny sniffled, wiping his eyes and shaking his head. She sighed sadly, "Hon, you need to get some sleep. You're killing yourself."

"I've slept," he muttered.

"Taking a half hour nap every day isn't helping," Stan said firmly. "Go get some _actual_ sleep. You'll think clearer."

Ken looked at him with glistening blue eyes, "But Kyle-"

"Needs you to be able to figure this out," he cut him off. "Kenny, _please_. You can't do anything with them out there anyway," he gestured towards the cops. "We'll wake you up if we think of anything, okay? Just go rest," he dropped into a gentler tone. Kenny opened his mouth to protest before his sagging eyes told him otherwise.

He looked between the both of them and sighed, "Thanks for letting me stay here, guys," he whispered.

"You need to stop thanking us," Wendy smiled sadly. "You _know_ you're welcome to stay as long as you need to. Now go sleep."

He nodded, giving them both a quick hug before standing from the bench. He threw a last sneer at the cops before making his way to the guest room, the couple watching him with miserable eyes.

"Oh, Stan," Wendy breathed as Kenny closed the door. "I really don't know what to do here."

"Me neither," he murmured, moving closer and wrapping his arm around her. He leaned his head on hers and took a deep breath. "God I just hope he's alive, Wends," he whispered miserably.

She kissed his cheek and nodded, "Me, too. But...I think he is."

"You think so?"

"If what Cartman said is true...if Craig had a thing for Kyle...I don't think he'd kill him."

"No," he muttered, putting his chin on her hair and looking back out the window. "He'd do even worse." He let out a soft sniffle, trying to contain himself and letting Wendy wrap around him as he buried his head into her shoulder. She stroked his back gently, tears dripping down her own cheeks.

Kenny stood up from against the door, heart dropping miserably at the eavesdropped words. He walked over to the bed, collapsing face first and sobbing into the pillow brokenly. He slammed his fist into the mattress, gritting his teeth. He was fucking stuck. He couldn't get to Kyle, he couldn't prove himself innocent, he couldn't get the cops to fucking _listen_. He sniffled, glancing up and out the window at the morning light shining brightly in his eyes. He bit his lip and shook his head, closing his eyes and sinking despairingly into his pillow. The hard truth was just staring him right in the face: No matter how horrible he felt, he could only imagine Kyle was feeling a million times worse.

* * *

Morning came far too soon, and Kyle found himself waking to the sound of Lila's claws clacking against the kitchen tile. She licked his cheek and he hissed, shoving her away. He yelped as a shoe slammed into his stomach, jolting him to attention and looking to see Craig staring down on him disapprovingly. "You don't push her, are we clear?" he said lowly.

Kyle nodded silently, grasping at his injured stomach and sniffling.

"Good," Craig nodded. "Why don't you make some breakfast while I take her out?" he said, not giving him a moment to respond as he led the dog out into the cold. Kyle watched the door close and blinked, rubbing the restless sleep from his eyes. He sighed, forcing himself to shakily get back onto his aching legs. He hissed, left leg throbbing from yesterday's exertion. He grabbed onto the counter, slowly making his way down towards the fridge and ripping it open, staring blankly at the options in front of him.

Oh, how he wished he could feed the noirette dog shit.

He bit his lip, wincing as he hit some swelling from another well-placed punch from the night before, shaking his head. He had to make the food, he couldn't deal with getting wailed on again. He groaned in pain, grabbing eggs, milk, butter, and cheese from the fridge and hip-bumping it closed. He placed his materials on the counter and sighed, grabbing an onion and pepper from the produce basket beside of him and tossing them down angrily. This was fucking _ridiculous_. Hell, he didn't make _Kenny_ breakfast, telling him to make his own goddamn Frosted Flakes since he took care of the other two meals.

He limped over, digging through cabinets and finding a cutting board and bowl, placing them down and ripping a chef's knife from the replaced block. He grabbed the onion, starting to cut with shaking hands, his eyes flickering to the stainless steel bowl beside of him glistening in the kitchen light. He blinked, abandoning his work for a moment and grabbing the bowl, staring at his reflection and nearly crying out at what stared back at him. His face was a _disaster_. Bruised eyes, cheeks, and chin. Cuts plotted about every few inches. His nose was slightly swollen, lip right alongside it. He tilted his head up and his shoulders dropped, the indentation of his collar and the clear mark of Craig's hands, lips, and teeth spelled out clearly across his paled skin.

He gulped, putting the bowl back and his jaw trembled. He blankly went back to work on his vegetables, staring at them but not quite seeing. What could he _do_? He didn't even _know_ Craig was as strong as he was, and if he were to harbor a guess, he figured Kenny didn't either. Otherwise he probably would've told Kyle to absolutely stay far away from him.

He sniffled a bit, eyes stinging with misery and onion, shaking his head slowly. What if this was it? What if the rest of his _life_ was going to be him chained to the fucking radiator making meals for the boy holding him hostage? He slowly dumped his minced onion into a smaller bowl atop the counter, going to work on his pepper and glancing at the gleam of his knife.

He wouldn't let it come to that.

He could stab him. Stab him right through the fucking eye. Make _him_ scream and beg for mercy before Kyle let it fly through his mouth that spat such vile, _evil_ words; The mouth that was trying to claim him, trying to mark him in a way that overshadowed every love bite he'd ever received from Kenny. He could stab straight through down into his throat, watch him _choke_ on the substance he so easily spilled from his prisoner. The redhead growled, the blade slicing viciously through the vegetable. He could do it. He could _kill him_. He could make that fuck regret _every fucking second_. Then he'd just steal the keys, take his truck, and run back to Kenny's arms. Punch the fucking cops in the face for believing that the blonde would _ever_ hurt him. He'd get off scot-free, no doubt. This was self defense. A poor victim who saw his opportunity to free himself from his servitude and _took it._ People would _congratulate him_. They'd tell him 'thank god you got away from him, I wish you could've killed him sooner'. Kenny would be _proud_ of him for fighting his way out, hold him and tell him how _happy_ he was for what Kyle had done.

He'd be so happy. Happy and _free_. No more collars, despite Kenny's collection for him. Those were just going to have to go after this. No more chains. No more cold. No more being treated as less than human. He'd go back to Kenny treating him like a fucking prince like he always had, being spoiled and loved and eating up every minute of it. He'd get his bed, his books, Kenny's arms. He'd get _everything_. And he had the tool to do it.

His arm was shaking in adrenaline, pupils mere pinpoints as a madness racked through him. He was _nobody's_ fucking housewife. And he was _not_ about to be Craig fucking Tucker's.

He yelped as a strong hand snared his left arm and ripped him around, the knife dropping from his hand and clattering on the ground as Craig crowded him against the counter. "Whatcha thinkin' about?" he asked, anger edging his tone.

Kyle's gaze flickered to the knife fallen by his foot and his lip curled, revealing a canine. His last bit of energy was finally flaring. It was now or never. "What's it matter to you?"

"Seems to _me_ that we were having little dreams of rebellion, weren't we?" he narrowed his eyes. "And after me giving you so much roaming room? Broflovski, that just won't _do_ ," he hissed.

Kyle sneered as the boy grabbed his other arm, planting them both down firmly against the counter, his back bending awkwardly in the position. "Just fucking kill me, Tucker," he hissed, getting a surprised look from him. "I'm not going to be yours, so you may as well just fucking get it over with," he snarled.

Craig shook his head. "I'm not getting rid of you. Because I'm not too fond of losing my _things_ ," he emphasized.

"I'm not yours, and I'm not a fucking THING!" he screamed, thrashing around and kicking at him weakly.

Craig rolled his eyes. He figured this was a long time coming, but he just _had_ to pick today to do it, didn't he? He leaned down against the shaking boy and took a deep, hot breath against him. "You _are_ mine," he bit. "And I'm going to show you just how much of a _thing_ you are," he snapped, whirling him around and shoving him down against the counter. Kyle shrieked as his head collided against the side of the heavy bowl before slamming atop the granite surface. He tried to break away, breath catching as Craig put him back in the all-too-familiar position of his hands trapped at the small of his back. He screamed furiously, thrashing as Craig struggled to re-trap his hands. He managed to eek one out of the hold and send it flying back, smashing against Craig's brow bone. The noirette growled, grabbing the flyaway and managing to tightly capture the wrists together, making sure to make the ties tight enough for Kyle to feel every ridge sinking into his porcelain skin.

"No! Stop!" he demanded, wriggling around as Craig hefted him up, unlocking his chain and letting it drop to the ground before beginning to force him into a walk through the kitchen. Kyle shot his head around, biting towards him viciously, a part of him just snapping with the possibilities of pain he could cause the monster holding him. He screeched as Craig kicked his bad leg and sent him stumbling to the floor. He groaned, eyes widening as a hand snared his collar, starting to drag him forward. Gasping for breath, water drowning his eyes, his knees tried to bring him closer to the slack. He struggled forward, vision clearing long enough to see he was being dragged towards the bedroom.

A wet gasp escaped his lips, the redhead screaming nonsense as he tried to escape the hold. Craig rolled his eyes, stopping for a moment beside the couch and ripping off cushions. He opened his compartment, snaring a handful of bungee cords before nonchalantly continuing to lug him along. Craig finally got the squirmy Jew into the room reaching under his bound arms around his waist. A smooth pivot was all it took for him to lob the lightweight down onto the bed. Kyle squeaked as he landed face-first on the mattress, trying to find his balance to get up, mind spinning. He could run again. He could throw himself out the fucking window if he had to. Because _this_ was simply not a fucking option.

Craig kicked the door shut, approaching his prey slowly, watching Kyle wriggling around and trying to break his restraints. He rolled his grey eyes. So _stubborn_. He sauntered over and kneeled on the bed, tossing his tools beside him and grabbing Kyle's hip, flipping him onto his back. They stared at each other, Craig's casual air igniting the fire in Kyle's battered eyes. "YOU FUCK!" he screamed, kicking and thrashing. Craig winced as he managed to get a good blow to his stomach, growling predatorily. He violently slid Kyle up the length of the bed, the boy yelping as his head collided with the metal bars at the forefront. "Stop!" he demanded, trying to shake off the dizziness spawning once more.

Craig furrowed his brow, this was _not_ how he wanted today to go, but, knowing Kyle, he was _more_ than prepared. He tore open his nightstand, snagging his navy cloth and shoving it over Kyle's eyes. His body erupted in panic, flailing under Craig's restraining weight as he was deprived of his sight. A soft cry pressed through as his curls tangled in the knot, eyes stinging. Kyle shook his head, growling as Craig pressed his forehead against his and turning to the side. He felt Craig's lips tracing over his skin, the ever-present threat of choking to death on his own goddamn vomit rearing its ugly head once again at the sensation.

He felt Craig moving just enough off his legs for him to begin kicking again, stopping only as a heavy fist slammed against his face right under his temple and rendered him immobile for a few moments. Craig quickly tore the boxers down the boy's legs while he had the chance, Kyle coming back to consciousness as he grabbed under his right thigh and pressed the leg up towards his shoulder. Kyle shook his head sporadically, listlessly trying to kick, mind set on a whirlwind of self-destruction. He couldn't keep up. He knew exactly what was happening, but he couldn't figure out how to _stop it_.

Biting nylon slipped under the back of his knee and he blinked, feeling the stretch of elastic expanding and catching the fine hairs of his skin. Metal against metal clanged above his head, Craig moving silently as he kept his left thigh pinned under his own leg. "Good boy," he murmured mindlessly, wrapping his cord around Kyle's lower thigh, connecting the two metal links and backing off, smirking satisfactorily. Kyle hissed, trying to lower his leg, heart hitching as he remained snared against the headboard. He whined, arching up off the bed and trying to fight his way down.

"Craig, NO!" he screamed, feeling his other leg beginning to be subjected to the same abuse, coughing at his lungs constricting as his body was folded. He tried arching up again, biting his cheek at the inability to do so, pinned by his compromised position. His hands were going numb under his back, his left leg screaming in agony at being restrained as it was. He felt the hands leave his leg, the ties secure and he groaned, losing his adrenaline and losing it _fast_. The humiliation was barely there; Only anger and fear. That incessant reasoning of his was beginning to crawl back into the corners of his weary mind. He hadn't won _any_ battle, this one wasn't looking too hopeful either.

He hissed, feeling Craig leaning between his spread legs and turning his head again as he came up, kissing his neck tenderly. Craig was beside himself, overwhelmed with the reality of what was taking place. He slowly grabbed the knife from his pocket, tearing his shirt lying atop Kyle's skin. He could feel Kyle's rapid heartbeat, the cries building so fluidly in his chest. Fingers brushed against smooth skin as he worked his way up to the shirt collar, ripping it through, looking as Kyle yelped loudly. He glanced down, seeing he'd caught the side of his throat just enough for a thin trail of blood to bead against his skin. He tossed his knife to the side, opening the split of his shirt to reveal Kyle's narrow, rapidly expanding chest. He smiled. He was _perfect_.

Those stubbed nails traced genially along Kyle's skin, the redhead completely frozen. He could barely breathe, subject to nothing but the sensation of _touch_. Touches by the man who fucking _stole him_. Hot breath splashing over his bared skin, fingertips playing so casually with him, as though his body belonged to _them_.

He whimpered as Craig kissed his chest and back up his neck, feeling him pressing his hips against his ass. "God... _don't_ ," he pleaded, tears dampening his blindfold.

"Shh," Craig said, drinking in every bit of Kyle's vulnerability like the finest of wines. He wanted to savor this, wanted to swirl it around his palate. Indulge in the spiced essence lied out before him so prettily, concocted from Earth and Heaven alike for his pleasure. He would be intoxicated, completely poisoned by the boy beneath him. Falling into his swathing embrace, he would drown in his kind, warming soul.

He groaned, pressing his hips against him harder, nearly shaking with need. Kyle's jaw fumbled, unable to think through the situation clearly. All he could think was 'run' and 'Kenny, _help_ '. Neither was exactly feasible, but he was too tired, too terrified, too beaten into the dirt to form a cohesive plan for escape. Calloused hands gripped his cheeks, turning him back upright. He cried out as lips pressed against his own, senses overflowing with the disgusting element that was Craig. Better judgement fled in his heightened terror, teeth flying open and down onto Craig's lip, shaking his head and tasting copper flowing onto his tongue. He screamed as yet another blow reigned upon his cheekbone, jaw parting and head snapping to the side.

Craig tongued over his bitten lip hungrily, sitting up and tracing his hands along Kyle's slender waist, rounding down and cupping his ass, watching amusedly as the boy began to quake. "Don't do this," Kyle breathed, eyes shut under his blindfold as he battled dizziness and nausea.

"I'm not stopping," he said simply, reaching back into his drawer and grabbing his bottle of lube, unable to tear his eyes from the feast awaiting him.

"Craig, please, _stop_ ," he begged. "If you _love me_ , you _won't_ ," he emphasized, resisting the instinct to retch at the phrase.

"You're right, I _love you_ ," he echoed, smirking at Kyle's slight cringe. "And that's why I'm giving you an option," he said casually, stroking a finger up the back of a propped thigh. Kyle's heart leapt. He could have an out. Maybe he could avoid this. Craig smiled, grabbing his ass and hearing Kyle suppressing a scream. He chuckled, cupping his chin with one hand and stroking his cheek. "Beg me for it, and tell me you love me, and you get prepped properly," he taunted.

Kyle's jaw dropped, eyes blown wide under their covering. He _wouldn't_. "You can't be serious," he whispered.

"Oh, I'm _dead_ serious," he countered, slowly undoing his jeans, pushing the denim and his boxers down around his knees as he stared at the dumbfounded boy. "So, what's it gonna be?" he asked, eyes half lidded as he emptied a good amount of lube onto his skin, slowly stroking a thick sheen over his throbbing cock.

The redhead felt the world crumbling around him. This was it. He was choosing how to be fucking _raped_ by a lunatic. He'd take _living_ in that cage over this. "Don't," he tried again.

"Not an option, Broflovski," he murmured, grey tracing along the curves of Kyle's bent body. "Figure it out or I make the choice _for you_."

The redhead's eyes slipped closed, tears leaking down his temples under his blindfold. "I'm not begging you for _shit_ ," he snapped. He was sealing his own fate, he knew he was. But he just would _not_ give Craig the satisfaction of hearing him _beg_ , not for this. And telling him he loved him was so far out of the realm of possibility that Craig may as well have shouted it from fucking Mercury. "You're just adding to your criminal charges, you piece of shit!" he spat.

Craig smirked and shook his head, releasing his glistening cock and leaning back over the boy, feeling him shaking as he ground against him. "Well then, why don't we start racking up the allegations?" he murmured along his cheek. He felt Kyle go rigid, stroking his cock along the boy's exposed form. Kyle leaned his head back, holding in a sob of helplessness as he felt Craig beginning to break through. He screeched through his teeth, unable to so much as _move_. He was going to rip, Craig was going to tear him the fuck apart, and the sick fuck was _enjoying it_. Craig didn't give him any time to adjust, sinking down into his unwelcoming body, shuddering at the warmth and the welcoming tightness clamping around him. Kyle gasped for air as Craig finally reached his end, pressed against his ass and staring down at him excitedly.

A red mouth was open in breathy cries, bruised and cut throat bared as he weakly fought for distance. His entire body was taut, muscles standing out against the thin flesh for Craig to enjoy. Kyle was on the brink of madness, unable to find the air to cry as Craig began to move. His muscles were flaring angrily, the minimal lube doing nothing but aiding the burn and the obvious tears along.

"Jesus Christ," Craig whispered, putting his forehead against Kyle's, hips slowly rolling against him. His fists clenched on either side of Kyle's trapped arms, jaw quivering at the tight heat around him. This definitely explained why Kenny was always so happy when he came to see Craig after a little 'session' with the redhead.

Kyle's mind couldn't seem to stay grounded, intrusive flashbacks of his first time sneaking through the horror, trying to remind him of something a bit less awful in comparison. It had been his biggest mistake, meeting with a man ten years his senior. He wasn't sure how to proceed, too nervous to ask about things like lube and condoms, and the man just wanted to fuck him. The prep was nonexistent, the pain was _horrible_ and he couldn't sit properly for a week. It nearly scared him off of sex entirely until he finally figured out what was _supposed_ to be done, every partner since then not allowed to touch him until they proved they knew what they were doing.

Tears fell fluidly down his face and he finally choked out a sob as Craig thrust against him, friction dying down on his assaulter's end. Random _hook ups_ had cared more about his comfort than Craig. Strangers he never spoke to again prepped him thoroughly, made him fucking coffee after the fact and gave him back rubs after sessions, asking time and again if he was all right. Craig, though. Craig didn't care. He just wanted to take what he wanted. He whined as the speed increased, trapped body sliding over the sheets. Lips pressed against his again, the redhead unable to find it within himself to strike back as hands cupped his face. Craig's breath was hot and heavy against him, his body a stifling blaze of unwanted covering over his exposed body. He could taste the remains of his cigarette on his tongue as it pressed into his mouth, strong menthol like Kenny's own. Kyle trembled, a reminder of Kenny the absolute _last_ thing he wanted in this situation.

Thoughts of the blonde weren't making him stronger this time, they were _destroying him_. What would Kenny even _think_ after this? He might never touch him again, might look at Kyle like a Ming vase, fingers twitching to stroke over his skin but keeping his distance to prevent him from shattering.

He cried into Craig's mouth at the notion, the sound of their skin smacking against one another's invading his ears. There was no love here. It was a need to claim; To own. It was nothing more than a spoiled child taking what he _thought_ belonged to him. Kyle just happened to be the unfortunate 'asset', innocently unaware of the situation until it grabbed a hold of him in its clammy, strong grip.

Disassociation fled him as Craig began muttering against his agape, motionless lips. Curses and fingers gripping tighter along his face and neck took dominance over his perception, terrifying him into a deeper stillness. He squeaked as he felt Craig slamming into him brutally before a final plunge filled him with that almost unfamiliar sensation of hot slickness. He trembled, the result almost more violating than the action itself. Kenny rarely did that, not wanting to inconvenience Kyle with the awkward mess to clean from himself. He only did it when Kyle _asked for it_.

But it was clear enough, now more than ever: Kyle wasn't getting what he asked for anymore. He was getting whatever Craig wanted to give him.

He gasped in pain as Craig finally slid out of him with a groan, his ass burning, feeling Craig leaking out of him and down his propped back. His legs were on fire, his hands underneath of him numbed and stinging. The lips pressed against his own were acid, burning into him, marring his skin with an uncleanliness that he vaguely wondered if he'd ever be able to shed. "So good," Craig breathed, kissing and nipping his mouth lovingly, sweat against his brow pressing against him. "So, _so_ good."

Kyle remained silent, letting the tears fall; Letting Craig continue to kiss and fondle him. Craig's afterglow calmness filled Kyle with an eerie clarity, his mind snapping back to its keen self for as long as Craig happily touched him and played with his hair like a lover would. The clouds clearing gave him no sun, however. Instead, Kyle found himself staring down an eclipse, a bare, thin ring of light just barely breeching the darkened concealment, just stalling time until the Earth could finally move once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually I don't put notes on this site but I feel the need to justify myself this time around because of how I handled the rape situation. Usually I focus on the physical aspect of this situation, but this time I wanted to hone in on the mental. Maybe you liked it, maybe you wanted more of just the physical violation, but, personally, I think that since Craig and Kyle's 'relationship' thus far has been purely physical aside from a few demeaning tasks, that this situation called for Kyle's mind not thinking for once of his out, but of his confinement. Idk, I just felt it was the most appropriate for this case. And I enjoyed going through it tbh. /shrug
> 
> hopefully y'all liked it, too, but, hey, they can't all be winners.
> 
> Either way, thanks for reading and for the continued support of this story, guys! It means a lot to me ;u;


	26. Chapter 26

He couldn't help but wonder if he'd lose his hands in all this, if the constant loss of circulation would get to the point where his fingers would be completely useless. The redhead sniffled, blinded head hanging down as he sat, wrists secured behind him to the headboard. He was exhausted, body damp with sweat, tears, and Craig's fucking bodily fluid. He could _smell_ it leaking off of him; staining his skin, an awful reminder that what he'd thought to be his universal truth had not come to fruition: Kenny was not the last person he'd ever smell like. The muscles of his legs were throbbing, utterly worn from being pushed up to his shoulders, spread on his knees, trying constantly to keep his balance as Craig threw him wherever he wanted to. He bit his lip, feeling a strong twinge in his right ankle from when Craig had thrown him onto the floor and he'd landed awkwardly enough to slam into the nightstand.

He didn't know what time it was, how much time he'd spent in this room, naked and bruised by Craig's possessive grip. He could only guess it'd been a few hours, the only kind of time check he'd been able to gather being how many rounds Craig went. He'd forced himself to stop doing that after the third time. He hissed as he shifted on the sides of his legs, lower back and ass begging for him to lie down and rest. The chill of the bars against his back only furthered the discomfort, reminded him just where he was: A prison.

He flinched as he heard slow footsteps approaching him once more, mind trying to fuel him with adrenaline, but reasoning beating the instinct down. He'd completely tired himself out going through the motions time and again. Fingers touched his chin and Kyle groaned, weakly pulling from the ridges of their prints, skin extra sensitive to every unwanted sensation. He whined under his breath as the blindfold was finally peeled off of him, a phantom feeling of the cloth lingering around his heavy eyes. Slowly and carefully, he let them flutter open. The world was blurry from darkness and tears, face pained as he scrunched them shut time and again to force himself to adjust.

"Come on, open up," Craig's voice called out with an eerie soothingness. Kyle gritted his teeth, facing away from him as he tried to open back to the world. His chin was caught and pulled back around, the redhead seeing enough to catch the clear sign of Craig's freshly showered naked form in front of him. He let out a sigh of disgust, glancing meekly at his captor's face. "There you go," he cooed.

He blinked as the fuzziness began to subside, looking to the clock on Craig's nightstand and feeling himself shaking. Five o'clock. He'd been chained like this for nearly seven hours. He jerked back as something pressed against his lips, nose flooded with the smell of a sweetly brewed coffee. He grunted as Craig sat next to him on the bed, petting his hair softly. "Come on, drink," he urged, tipping the mug against his lips still tinged with the other's saliva. Kyle blinked, allowing the beverage to cross the chapped threshold, throat painfully working to let the sustenance worm its way down. He did his best to ignore the fingers still twiddling through his curls, letting his body focus on the warmth rushing through him.

"You were so good today," Craig said, hand dropping to stroke his fingers along Kyle's collar, fixing it from its disheveled, turned state. He watched the name tag drop back to the middle of his clavicle, glimmering brightly in the lamp light beside of him. Kyle pulled back from the mug, taking long, deep breaths. Craig looked at the coffee half gone and chuckled, setting it on the nightstand and watching the boy. His eyes drifted to the array of hickeys and bite marks littering his skin, a collection that even _McCormick_ would find to be overkill. Pride swelled in his stomach, hunger already rebuilding. He leaned forward and kissed his forehead, grinning against his skin. _"So_ good."

Nowhere in his heart was there the temptation to speak to the boy, but Kyle's tongue betrayed him, voice rasped from screaming and pleading for so long. "Eighth...grade..." he panted softly.

"Hm?" Craig asked, brushing his bangs from his sweated face.

"You said...you...started this shit...in eighth grade. Why?" he whispered.

Craig smirked, fiddling with a curl and shrugging. "You helped me with my history report."

"Huh?" he blinked.

"The Intolerable Acts," he relayed simply. "You stayed behind from lunch to help me get why it was such a big deal," he shrugged again. "You were the only person who'd taken the time to help me." Kyle narrowed his eyes. This couldn't be happening. He seriously did _not_ get fucked over by the goddamn British government of all people. Craig shook his head softly, "You kept fucking teasing me," he murmured.

He raised his brow, " _Teasing_ you?" he repeated.

"Kept playing with your hair, biting your fucking pen. That _stupid_ green pen that you always had tucked behind your ear," he stroked behind said ear genially. "You were always ready for things to happen," he said almost dreamily, lost in his eighth grade wanderings once more. "You were always the _only_ one ready to deal with shit. I hated you for that."

He stared at him haltingly, wishing he could back up through the headboard and wall and away from the maniac holding him like a precious doll. None of it seemed to click, he just couldn't _understand_ the extreme spectrum of emotion that every syllable and linger of his fingers bounced between. Kenny always called Kyle's feelings fickle, but this just seemed on an entirely different plane. "Why did you hate me for that? And if you hated me...why are you doing _this_?" he emphasized.

"I hated how you had _control_ ," he said, voice dropping dangerously. "You didn't _deserve_ to be the one to have it. Everyone else was drowning and you were fucking floating along, only dropping lifesavers to whoever you felt was worthy."

Kyle blinked, "I wasn't fucking 'floating'," he protested. "I...I just-"

"Had everything planned to the letter for your life," he interrupted coldly. "Everything you wanted you _got_."

"I _earned_ what I got," he hissed, panic steadily being replaced by flares of anger.

He narrowed his eyes, "You think you _earned_ McCormick?"

"Yes," he bit. "I _worked_ to get us to the point where we finally happened. Don't fucking sit here and tell me that you kidnapped me because I know how to make a fucking schedule!" he shouted.

"The problem was you never let anything else work _into_ your fucking schedule!" he snapped back, Kyle recoiling against the bars and gulping as Craig's hands tightened around his throat and hair. "Even your fucking social interactions were planned," he rolled his eyes. "Couldn't get a fucking conversation with you if I ripped off your fucking ear and beat you with it. Or, maybe I _would have_ if you weren't so busy chasing your little blonde prick."

Kyle sneered, "So that's it? I didn't give you a chance and so you think I _owe_ you?"

"Yes," he said plainly. "You let me in once, but that was it. But it was all I needed," he scoffed dryly. "You need someone who can make your _actual_ priorities apparent."

He looked at him uncertainly, "What priorities?"

He looked at him and smirked, "Do you know just what kind of person you are, Broflovski?"

"A really pissed off one," he growled.

"Exactly," he replied thickly. "You're an emotional wreck. If your plans go to shit, _you_ go to shit. You're a sickly little scrawny fuck who wants to be the bull. You haven't figured out your place yet, under someone with _actual_ control." he cocked his brow.

He glared at him, green flashing with danger that didn't phase Craig in the least. "If you want someone to be your subservient little housewife, you're fucking with the _wrong person_ ," he hissed.

"Seems to be working in my favor so far," he taunted.

"I'm smart enough to know how to survive, Tucker," he scoffed. "Surviving bides me _time_. And time is going to send Kenny crashing through your door and shooting your fucking head off."

"And _there it is_ ," he said superiorly, Kyle blinking in confusion. "You _need_ someone. You can't get out of here by yourself," he stated sharply. "I'm not too fond of people who act like bigger shits than they are. And you're the _worst_ of them all."

"Then _why am I here?"_ he challenged furiously.

He shook his head, "Because, stubborn little omega dogs need shoved down into their place."

"Oh, talk about someone who thinks they're better than they are," he rolled his eyes. "You think you're some kind of alpha? You're just a rapist piece of shit," he spat. He yelped as Craig slammed him back against the bars, leaning down towards his face.

He shook his head disapprovingly, "When are you going to fucking learn to keep your mouth shut?"

"When I'm _dead_ ," he snarled.

He cocked his brow, "Oh really? Because I've _seen_ you lose hope and go fucking catatonic, Broflovski. You think it'll take long to get you there?" Kyle frowned and he continued, "Remember where you are. Remember where _McCormick_ is. He's under such high scrutiny right now he won't be able to get near me and you damn well know it. Who the fuck do you think is going to come for you? Marsh? Fatass?"

Kyle's shoulders sank and he looked back to the nightstand. If Kenny was under watch, there was no doubt Stan was right there with him. Anyone else wouldn't be willing to risk arrest for the 'possibility' of being him being trapped here. Shit. "They'll let up on him eventually," Kyle murmured.

"Think about how little goes on that the police get involved in around here," he rolled his eyes. "You think that the story of _you_ vanishing is going to clear up anytime soon? With _your_ mother?" Kyle cringed. He had a point. No doubt Sheila would find a way to keep interest in finding him high. _Shit_. Craig stroked over his temple and smirked as he watched the rage subsiding and the defeated exhaustion settling back onto Kyle's face. "You're staying with me for a _long_ time," he promised, cupping his chin and pulling him back to look at him. "Get used to it."

"I'll _never_ be 'used to it'," he said wearily.

Craig scoffed, "Then you better get used to having the shit beaten out of you."

He winced as the boy pressed into a bruise riding along his throat. He was so tired, he just couldn't seem to handle the information piling on top of him. Craig's lips brushed his brow and he grunted, jerking back slightly from the fire spitting from the touch. "You're fucking crazy," he whispered.

Craig rolled his eyes, cutting the tie connecting the redhead's wrists to the bed and lifting under him, smiling at Kyle's weak attempt to struggle before he simmered down, muscles rebelling too much to get enough energy to do anything but wriggle. He slowly carried him into the bathroom and set him down in the tub, Kyle staring at the porcelain with muggy eyes. Craig chuckled, switching the shower back on, watching him flinch at the water beating down onto his back and head. "Good boy," he said, getting up and walking out of the room.

Kyle continued staring in front of him, trying to ignore the disgusting state of his left leg as the balmy water continued to parade onto his beaten tender skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling evidence of Craig's doing washing away and breathing in relief. He could take smelling like over-chlorinated water, it was definitely preferred between the options. He leaned his head back, feeling his curls becoming weighed down, the pureness running down his face in little trails, racing past his bruises, cascading over the damnable collar. This was what he needed: A fresh start. A reminder that he wasn't just Craig's fucking plaything, he was a human. A very _stubborn_ human. With clean skin came a clean mind, a mantra that he'd held to for years. Fights with his mother or Kenny always sent him into the shower, letting the steam rising through his nostrils fill him with clarity as the issues of his day slid off of him, mere dust in the torrent of liquid swept away in the tide.

He just had to figure out the balance. How much he could get away with, how much he could 'earn' through Craig's trust before knocking him over and making his escape. There had to be _something_ he could do. He grimaced at the zip ties reminding him staunchly that they were becoming part of his fucking wardrobe, and getting anything done with being trapped like this would be near impossible.

" _Shit!"_ Craig said from the other room. Kyle's heart leapt with hope. It could be Kenny. He could be storming up the hill ready to whisk him out of here. He watched as Craig came back in and shut off the shower, ripping his half-cleaned form out and tossing him down onto the tiled floor. Kyle hissed, flinching as Craig quickly rubbed him as dry as he could manage. "We have some visitors coming," he murmured, running the cotton through his curls and shaking his head. The guys wanted to 'see him'. Which meant they wanted to look again for Kyle under the guise of 'hanging out'.

He sighed, seeing the hope flashing through Kyle's eyes and shaking his head. He grabbed under him and pulled him onto his feet, smirking at Kyle unable to keep his weight upright and crashing back onto the floor. "So much for fighting your way out," he murmured, picking him up under his legs and back. "You can't even walk."

"Fuck you," Kyle rasped, head leaning back and eyes shut in pain. The heat of the shower had awoken aches he didn't know he had. He hissed as he was thrown onto the bed now stripped of its sheets, shifting uncomfortably as Craig went to his closet, reaching in and up to the doorframe concealed in darkness. He grabbed the bottle and needle stashed carefully away, quickly filling his dosage and making way back to the redhead.

"Gotta make this quick," he murmured, shoving him over onto his stomach and injecting the serum before Kyle could even think of a protest. The redhead groaned, legs sliding on the mattress listlessly as he tried to find the sense to attack. Craig merely placed his materials back into their space and grabbed him once more, snagging the bungee cords along the way. "You'll be fine," he cooed.

"You fuck," he croaked, the pounding of his head subsiding, a sensation that filled him with dread. He'd miss his rescue. _Again_. He wriggled as best he could, groaning as Craig let him tumble into the couch compartment. The Jew hissed as Craig began to fasten him down, the feeling of cords once more wrapping around his bared legs sending him into an instinctual fit.

"Behave," Craig said sternly, slapping his ass sharply.

"Let me gooo," he whined.

Craig rolled his eyes, finishing tying him down and making way back into his room. Kyle hissed, feeling the world starting to fade and panicking. He couldn't lose his chance. Not again. He _couldn't_.

He didn't even notice as Craig came back, the noirette laughing softly at the conflicting storm raging in Kyle's acidic eyes; Fighting between his mindful self and the drugs spreading through his system. He reached in and refastened Kyle's gag in his mouth, seeing his jaw quiver with the need to bite on the invasive material. Craig quickly tossed in a blanket over his naked, secured form, tucking it in around him and petting his wet hair. "You'll come out as soon as they're gone," he assured him, shutting and latching the lid.

Kyle took long breaths through his nose, fighting so hard to keep himself grounded as he lied in the dark. He couldn't do this. He couldn't lose his opportunity with whoever was coming to the house. He heard the muffled sound of the cushions being situated on top of his wooden cage, eyes hazily focused on the minute airholes in front of him. _'Stay awake,'_ he weakly ordered himself. _'For you. For Kenny. Stay_ _ **awake**_ _.'_ The mantra stayed strong for nearly five minutes before Kyle finally fell slack, eyes slipping closed as his body fell prey to the medication. He didn't hear Craig throwing the sheets and towel into the washer. He didn't hear the checklist that he went over aloud as he made sure he'd hidden all evidence of Kyle's existence. Lila's barking never stirred him. He never heard a mere fifteen minutes later when three separate new voices appeared, all of them sitting above him, not even a foot away from his innocent, restless slumber.


	27. Chapter 27

There was something that the man had learned years ago while starting on the force: You have to leave the cases at the office. More often than not, it was easy enough. Petty crimes and small town hassles never really fazed him. But, every now and then, he'd find himself where he was now: Mind completely honed in on the case in front of him, unable to let it slip through and tuck it away into his desk for the morning grind. Murphy sighed tiredly, turning his squad car down onto the street he'd visited nearly two weeks before, pulling up in front of the small, cozy seeming house. He knew better, though. The inside was littered with police tape, pieces taken from the home and stored in the evidence locker.

He turned off the car and slowly made his way towards the front door, an eerie chill brushing over the back of his neck. He bit his lip, superstition that he thought he'd shed long ago beginning to make its return. He couldn't help but worry that he had a dead man pushing him in the right direction. Genially, he grasped the house key taken from Evidence and unlocked the front door, wincing at it creaking like a fucking Scooby Doo cartoon. He slipped his thin latex gloves on and switched on the light, looking around the empty living room and twisting his lips.

He stepped inside and closed the door, walking towards a bookshelf crammed full and glancing over titles. He smirked a bit, knowing just from his few conversations with Kenny that probably every book here was Kyle's. He looked at the third shelf down and frowned, picking up a framed picture of the two of them at the beach somewhere with Stan and Wendy. He looked at Kenny's arm wrapped around Kyle's waist, Kyle's own around the blonde's neck, both of them looking just _too_ happy for it to be faked.

Murphy sighed, putting it down and making way towards his target in the kitchen. His eyes flickered to the cabinets now blockaded, the bloodied zip ties long gone. His nose scrunched and he walked towards the sink, wincing at the molded cheese now cresting the saucepan still lingering in the tub, the fuzzy pasta dish tossed on the counter carelessly. He shook his head. They'd already dusted those and found nothing but Kyle's fingerprints, they were utterly useless. He took them to the trash can and held his breath as he tossed them in, tying the bag and making a mental note to grab it on his way out.

He glanced around again, sighing tiredly. Yates would have his balls in a vice if he knew he wasn't out doing routine traffic stops like he'd been instructed, but he just couldn't rest easy, not with everything so up in the air like it was. A quick sneak to the Locker the night before had made him more uncomfortable, finding Kyle's baggied phone and flipping through contacts, no Craig Tucker to be found. He could've easily brushed it off, thinking that Kyle would just find the number in _Kenny's_ phone, but that just didn't seem to make sense if he was an 'abuse victim'. Things _seemed_ to add up on Craig's end, but with slightly skewed edges. Not enough to detract from the final picture the puzzle made, but enough to notice as you place it together and cursed the manufacturer under your breath for the error.

He looked between the trash bag and the rest of the kitchen, letting out a thoughtful 'hmm'. Kenny had told them through one of his interrogations that Kyle was precise and hellbent on keeping records, taking note of most everything he did for fear of forgetting something vital. Kyle was _also_ the one who did all the cooking for the two of them. Which meant there were bound to be some recipes here somewhere.

He got up and began sifting through cabinets with a gentle touch, careful not to disturb anything _too_ much in case a further investigation could come about. His phone rang and he jumped whipping it out of his pocket and placing it against his ear. "Murphy," he answered.

" _We got note back on the toxicology report,"_ Yate's voice breeched.

He raised his brow, "On the hair? Already?"

" _No, the needles,"_ he scoffed. Murphy heard him shuffling through papers, keeping up with his own searching and biting his lip. _"Looks like you were right about the Midazolam."_

Murphy nodded, "Figured. What was the other one?"

" _Ketamine,"_ he answered tiredly. _"They wanted Broflovski out for the count apparently."_

"No easier way to kidnap someone than to have them drugged," he muttered, shaking his head in disgust.

A few moments of silence passed before Yates sighed, _"I think we need to talk with McCormick again."_

"For what?" he resisted the temptation to roll his eyes.

" _We need to know where he could've gotten access to this stuff."_

"Sir, he's a _mechanic_ ," he emphasized. "Unless he managed to magically make them out of motor oil and turtle wax, I really don't think-"

Yates cut him off, _"Anyone willing to do this has a way to go about it, Murphy."_ The man's eyes dropped tiredly and he nodded. _"We'll talk to him tomorrow."_ The sergeant hung up without another word and Murphy sighed, hanging up on his own end and slamming it down into his pocket. He made way towards the far side pantry, head spinning with the facts he'd been presented with. This didn't make _sense_. They'd questioned all the friends they could of the boys, none of them having access to medication aside from one Bebe Stevens as she trained to be a nurse. But even _she_ was cleared of that suspect when the facility reported to them that they weren't missing any sedatives and Bebe didn't have access to get to them regardless.

This was just too much for a small town job.

He opened the cabinet, right away finding a small index card box on the top shelf and taking it out, flicking it open and smiling at the clear sight of large, handwritten recipe cards. He slowly made way to the table and sat down, flipping through the dividers until the word 'Pasta' clearly stood out with Kyle's clean handwriting. He found a recipe at the forefront and took it out, smirking at the neat label across the top: 'That mac n' cheese that'll make Ken die of a heart attack at fucking thirty'. He chuckled at Kenny's own scratchy handwriting scrawled up in the corner: 'maybe but I'll die happy :D'. He glanced over the list of ingredients, nodding to himself. Simple enough; Just cream cheese, milk, cheddar, gruyere, parmesan, worcestershire sauce, flour, and penne. Murphy scanned down at the directions, focusing on the baking section. 350 degrees; 40 minutes or until parmesan is golden. He licked over his lips, quickly scanning through the rest of the pasta section to be sure this was his only option. The only other called for outside differently colored ingredients not present in the molded dish he'd found, so he was sure he'd found his culprit. He quickly stood from the table and set the card aside, closing the box and placing it back into the cabinet.

With a deep breath he turned on his heel, placing the card gently into his pocket and glancing around the kitchen a final time. He shook his head, grabbing the trash bag and heading out the front door, the eerie reality seeming to get to him more than it typically did. Maybe it was having so _little_ to go off of, but his instincts just _screaming_ for him to take the plunge. He just couldn't be sure.

He made it down to the end of the curb, a man shouting, "Excuse me? Officer?" catching his attention. He turned to see a man and woman in their late twenties at the least coming towards him from next door, worried looks on their faces.

"Can I help you?" he asked, placing the bag into Kenny and Kyle's bin at the end of the sidewalk.

"Has anyone found him yet?" the woman asked softly.

He shook his head, "No. No we're not sure of where he is. We're still working on it nonstop. Did you know the boys?"

They nodded, "They've been our neighbors the last two years," she said. "They'd invite us for dinner when they had too much extra, we talked to them at _least_ three times a week," she laughed sadly.

Murphy tongued over his lips, "Did anyone talk to you the day Mr. Broflovski went missing?"

The man elbowed his wife, "I _told_ you it was pronounced like that," he teased lightly before looking at the man and shaking his head. "No. We had left that afternoon for Denver and didn't come back until two days after. We didn't know about Kyle until we went to bring him and Ken back some bread pans and someone a few houses down told us what happened."

"Kyle made us zucchini bread for a party we had the week before," the woman smiled fondly.

Murphy nodded, leaning against his patrol car and crossing his arms. "So, you knew the boys well?"

"As well as neighbors do," the man shrugged. "Like we said, we talked and had dinner with each other sometimes, but that was about it."

"How did their relationship seem to you?" he questioned. "Healthy? Happy?"

They both nearly cackled and nodded. She shook her head amusedly, "Our living room window points towards theirs," she pointed at their house for emphasis. "Let's just say we learned to keep our curtains closed," she smirked.

"So, they enjoyed each other's company," he said quietly. "Even behind closed doors?"

"They wouldn't keep their hands off each other," the man rolled his eyes with a smile. "Too many times we came over and Ken would answer the door with his hair all over the place and Kyle would be trying to fix his damn clothes," he snorted.

The officer raised his brow amusedly, "And this never bothered you?"

They shrugged, "Why would it?" the woman asked. "They're nice kids and they're happy and they're good neighbors. Plus we don't want to lose the free desserts we get," she smiled.

"When did you leave for your Denver trip? What time?" he asked.

"About 4:30," the man answered.

"Did you see anyone at the boys' house that day that's not usually there?"

The couple looked at each other and narrowed their eyes as they struggled to remember. "I...I think so actually..." she said slowly before snapping her fingers. "Yes, actually! There was a boy with a truck. We were sitting outside talking and watching the snow before we left."

Murphy straightened up a bit, "Do you remember what time he got here and what time he left?"

"Well...he came right after we got outside," he said slowly, trying to think. "We came out here after our show ended, so about 3:30," he raised his brow. "And he left a little before we went back inside."

"What time?" he asked, fist curling lightly.

She bit her lip, "About 4:00," she answered. "Sorry we can't be more specific."

"No, no, that's plenty close enough if you're _sure_ that's the estimated timeframe," he raised his brow expectantly.

The man nodded, "Positive."

Murphy whipped out his notebook, quickly scribbling down times and notes, nodding as he worked. "Any other details about this person that you remember? Color of his truck? Hair color? Anything?"

"His hair and truck are both black," she said. "I remember because we laughed about how they blended together," she shrugged.

Murphy bit his lip. Craig already confessed to being at the house, but a small talk shouldn't have taken a damn half an hour. "Anything else? Did he do anything...odd?"

The man shrugged, "He pulled the truck into their garage, which was strange since they only use it when they have visitors."

Murphy snapped his head up and blinked. "Did he come out with anything in the bed?"

"No," he shook his head. "Or at least...nothing _large_ ," he emphasized. "The cover was still on."

Murphy frowned, thumb tracing along his pencil. All he took was bungee cords, Craig told them. Who needs to pull into a garage for fucking _bungee cords_? "How long was the truck in the garage?"

She shrugged, "About...what, Sweetie? Ten, fifteen minutes?" she asked. He nodded in confirmation and Murphy scribbled it down, hand starting to shake.

"Did you hear him say anything?" he asked. "Anything else weird that he did?"

"He yelled a thank you to Kyle and then shut the garage door after he pulled his truck out."

Murphy raised his brow. He'd been in the garage during the investigation, it was an automatic door. "How'd he shut the garage?"

"Got out of the truck and pulled it down," the man shrugged before looking up thoughtfully. "Which is weird. He opened it automatically from the inside before he walked out. Guess Kyle was...busy..." he trailed off and he and his wife looked at each other before back to the officer, the man's brain obviously whirring. "Sir?" he asked, hazel eyes shooting back into his own. "Do...do you think Kyle's alive?" he questioned softly, wrapping his arm around his wife's shoulder.

Murphy took a deep breath, glancing between them and his notes. "I can't say for sure. But...I think he is," he answered honestly. "Something's telling me he's still alive."

"Hopefully you're right," she said, sighing sadly. "I can't imagine what poor Ken's going through with him missing."

"Yeah, me neither," he muttered. "Is that all you remember?"

They nodded, "Sorry we don't have more," she apologized meekly.

"Don't be," he held up his hand. "You two have helped more than anyone. Thank you. If we think of anything else, we'll send someone back around to ask you if that's all right."

"Absolutely," the man nodded. He pulled a card out of his dress slacks and handed it to him. "We own a veterinary clinic in town. This is the best way to get a hold of us." Murphy glanced down, seeing 'Ben and Kara Wyatt' written atop a mint green business card.

He smiled, "Thank you. We'll be in contact if we need you." They smiled sadly and waved as he hurried to the other side of his car and hopped into the driver's seat, taking off down the road. His hands quaked atop his steering wheel, gulping down a large lump of anxiety as he made his way out of the neighborhood. The puzzle was becoming more distorted, and the worry was building worse than before. He took a deep breath and glanced up at the street signs, making a sharp right turn and heading towards town. His shift was over in twenty minutes, and he needed to make a quick stop at the grocery store.


	28. Chapter 28

Kenny was _beyond_ sick of this fucking room. The white walls, the one way mirror, the two chairs across from him; They were _mocking him._ Reminding him all too well of 'you haven't found him yet. He's counting on you. You're _fucking up_.' He put his head in his hands, taking a shuddery breath. Stan was right outside in the lobby, just as infuriated with the situation as Ken himself was. Questioning him was taking too much time, two fucking _weeks_ of being hounded was doing nothing but wasting Kyle's chances, if there still were any. The blonde gulped and sniffled, knowing well enough what came after this: Stan would take him back to his house and those cops would be tailing them just like they had on the way to the station. He was trapped. He may as well have been stuck in that damn cell again with the key just past the reach of his fingertips.

He looked from the sides of his hands as the two men he most despised for the moment stepped into the room. He blinked a bit as he looked past Yate's stern face and onto Murphy's, _swearing_ that sympathy was lingering in those sharp hazel eyes.

"McCormick," Yates said as they took their seats.

He dropped his hands, looking at him angrily. "What now?" he spat. "I literally have _nothing_ else I can possibly tell you unless you wanna know what fucking color my boxers were that day. By the way, they were grey," he said snidely.

"Watch your tone," he bit back. He sat back and crossed his arms. "McCormick, what do you know about ketamine?" he questioned.

The blonde blinked. "Ketamine?" he repeated. "Isn't that what you put in a grill or some shit?"

"That's _kerosene_ ," Murphy corrected, watching closely for any hint of falsity. He bit his lip as he found none, instead staring at an intensely confused blonde.

Kenny looked between the both of them, cocking his head slightly. "What the fuck is ketamine?"

Yates frowned, "A drug," he said simply. "Something that'll knock a person out in minutes."

His eyes widened in realization. "Is _that_ what the other needle was?" he asked, jaw quivering. "He was completely knocked out?!"

"You should know," he said sharply.

Kenny growled, "How the _fuck_ would I have been able to drug him up?!" he demanded. "I don't know what the fuck these things are!" he gestured wildly. "I don't _know_ how fucking injections even work! I can't even _look_ when Ky's taking his insulin!"

"Why not?" Murphy questioned softly.

"Needles skeeve me out, okay?" he shuddered. " _You_ watch your fucking mother shoot up for years and almost fucking die time and again, and you tell me that you can look at them without freaking the fuck out," he snapped.

Yates rolled his eyes, "Calm _down_ , McCormick." He paused, looking at Kenny's lip trembling and sighing irritably. "Do you know anyone who could have gotten a hold of it?"

"Maybe Bebe," he murmured, looking at the table. "But she'd never take anything."

"Miss Stevens has already been cleared," Murphy assured him, watching Kenny's shoulders sink in relief. Kenny sighed, glad he wasn't dragging another person in on this mess. "So, you have absolutely _no_ knowledge of these drugs?"

"Not a clue," he whispered, shaking in his seat. Kyle would have had no _idea_ what'd happened to him when he woke up. He shut his eyes and bit his lip. _Christ_ this was just getting worse and worse.

Yates stared at him, tapping his finger on his arm. "Tell us about your sex life."

Kenny shot his eyes open, blinking in shock. "Ex...excuse me?"

"Yours and Broflovski's," he raised his brow.

Kenny jerked back subtly with the unexpectedness. "It...I mean...It was...sex," he shrugged confusedly. "It was, you know, four, five times a week at least usually?"

"That often?"

"We're young and horny, fucking sue us," he glared.

Murphy looked over at his superior, wincing. He knew _exactly_ where this was going, and he did _not_ want to see it. Yates cleared his throat, "You ever beat him? In bed?" he emphasized.

"The fuck are you talking about?" he frowned.

"Hit. Strike. Some other variation," he returned the expression.

He held up his hands, "Okay, there is a _massive_ fucking difference between beating and hittin-"

"So you admit it?" he cut him off.

Kenny looked between the both of them, jaw hanging slightly. "He...I..." he rubbed his temple and groaned. Great. Fucking _great_. "Kyle likes his ass slapped, are you fucking happy?" he grumbled, leaning back and crossing his arms angrily.

"Uh huh," Yates muttered unbelievingly. "Bring it in!" he shouted. Kenny watched in bewilderment as the door opened and the door guard stepped through, sliding a red box onto the table. A very _familiar_ red box.

"Oh my god, no," Kenny murmured, putting his hand over his eyes.

Yates glared, ripping the lid off the box and throwing it down onto the table. "We went back to the house a few days ago and confiscated this from your room. Care to explain?"

Kenny glanced at the box, seeing the multiple strands of dodger blue silk rope bundled so precisely and innocently, wincing at the collars and leashes hiding underneath of them. A multitude of other restraints rested in the bottom and Kenny shut his eyes and shook his head. "Please tell me this is the _only_ box you fucking took."

"Trust me, we left the 'toys' alone," Yates shuddered. "Now. Explain," he gestured again.

He leaned his head back and groaned. "Why the living _fuck_ do I need to tell you how Kyle and I fuck?" he demanded.

"Because it's just _awfully_ strange that he was subdued and you just _happen_ to have an entire _box_ of restraints."

Kenny looked up at him, fire sparking in his cerulean eyes. "Do you see zip ties in there?" He hissed. "Because, guess what, I don't use that shit!" he snapped. "Did you _not_ see the blood on the fucking ties?! Kyle's wrists are probably torn to _shit_ and-"

"That doesn't answer my question, McCormick!" he shouted.

"Sir, calm down," Murphy winced. "Let him talk." Yates shot him a sharp look before sighing in aggravation and settling back against his chair again. Murphy looked at Kenny and nodded, "Go on, Kenny."

He crossed his arms and glared at them both furiously. "Ky likes to be tied up. Okay?" he gave a sarcastic, angry smile. "Simple as fucking that."

"So it would have been easy for you to convince him to be tied to the cabinets," Yates countered superiorly.

He rolled his eyes, "No. Because, one, how the _fuck_ would tying him in that position make it easy to fuck him?" he glared. "When the rope comes out, he knows he's getting fucked, and he's fucking smart enough to know he wouldn't be gettin' _shit_ if he was like that," he scoffed. "Besides, Ky would never let that happen so close to where he prepares food," he continued smartly.

"But you're admitting that you've had practice in subduing him," Yates bit.

"Oh my **god** ," Kenny dragged his hands over his eyes. "Look, maybe look at the internet some fucking time?" he rolled his eyes. "Bondage. It's a thing," he snapped. "We've been doin' it for _years_ and I _know_ what I'm fucking doing! And _Kyle_ knows what he's doing. If it was _me_ , he wouldn't fucking struggle to the point where he slices up his wrists!"

"Unless you were coming at him with needles."

"Fucking SHIT, DUDE!" he screamed, standing up angrily. "I already _told_ you about that! And me knowing how to tie fucking knots isn't any kind of fucking 'clue' that I fucking abuse or kidnapped my own goddamn boyfriend!"

He pointed at him accusingly, "You sit down and keep yourself under control or you're getting detained again, Buddy!"

Kenny gritted his teeth, sitting back down and seething with his fingers clenched around the table. Murphy blinked at him in surprise, the desperation and anger clearly spilled in his eyes. "I didn't do it," he said lowly. "What's in this box is between me and Kyle _consenting_ to it happening," he glared. "It's completely _different_ from him being abducted."

"Explain the collars," he quirked his brow. "Your friends seemed concerned about _Tucker's_ buying habits, why not yours?"

He frowned, reaching down into the box and throwing their small collection on the table. "Look at them," he ordered, pointing at the array of nylon and leather. "Do you see a fucking _chain collar_ in here?" he demanded. "No. You see expensive as _shit_ collars because I wouldn't buy one that would hurt him," he glowered. "He _likes_ being tied up. He _likes_ wearing collars. I _like_ indulging him. Okay? It's fucking something a goddamn Google search would've explained! But you're so busy thinking that I'm the fucking bad guy that you're _reaching_ for reasons to blame me!" he gestured to himself, the anger fading into helplessness on a dime. "Goddammit I _love_ Kyle and I want him back! Stop having cops watching _me_ and have them out there looking for him!"

The sergeant cleared his throat and shifted. "And just what makes you think we're watching you?"

"Because cars don't stay in front of the house for three fucking days switching fucking shifts with the people never getting out," he glared. "I'm not fucking stupid."

"Does it worry you that you're being watched?" Murphy asked quietly.

He looked at him, blinking back tears. "No. It worries me that you're more focused on me than you are on finding Kyle. I don't have anything to hide. But Craig does." He picked up a leather collar, staring at it and stroking over the soft, worn material. "I can guarantee he's not as worried about Kyle not being hurt as I am," he murmured, running his thumb along the collar.

Yates rolled his eyes, throwing the lid back atop the box. "Fine. Whatever. You go right ahead and keep telling yourself that. Hopefully you haven't made him starve to death," he glared, getting out of his chair and angrily stomping out of the room. Murphy watched after him in shock as he slammed the door closed, turning back and looking at Kenny still lost in his trance.

"Kenny?" he asked gently. The blonde looked at him and the man sighed. "Kenny, I believe you," he said softly.

He blinked, "You...you do?" he whispered hopefully.

He nodded, "Look, he's acting ridiculous, but Sarge is just frustrated that we can't find Kyle, okay? We _do_ have officers on the lookout for him. The problem is...Tucker had an answer for everything," he shrugged. "With so little to go on it's hard to make any kind of conviction."

Kenny sniffled and nodded. "I know. I just wish you'd stop focusing on me."

He nodded sympathetically, "Unfortunately, you're still the most likely suspect. And it's our _job_ to keep up with the most likely."

He sighed, "Right."

The man leaned back in his chair and bit his lip. "I spoke to your neighbors."

He raised his brow, "Ben and Kara?"

Murphy chuckled softly and nodded. "They spoke pretty highly of you and Kyle. How well you two get along."

"We do," he murmured. "We have since we were kids," he shrugged. He sighed again and ran his hand through his hair. "I just want him back," he whispered.

"I know," he said pitiably. "We'll find him, okay?" Kenny nodded and the man sighed. "Why don't you go back to your friend's? Get some food, get some rest," he suggested.

Ken slowly got to his feet, putting the collars all back into the box and putting his hand on the lid. "Can you do me a favor?" he asked softly.

"What?"

He looked at him with tear-filled eyes and pushed the box towards him. "If you guys need to...ya know...check it for 'evidence' or whatever, go ahead...but if not...can you throw it away?"

He blinked, "Why?"

"Because I'm not about to put Kyle back into the mindset Craig probably has him in," he said miserably. "Please just...get rid of it."

Murphy took a deep breath, nodding softly. "Will do." Kenny gave a half smile before turning and starting to walk towards the door. "Ken, hang on one second," he called, watching the blonde turn back around curiously. "Kyle made your dinners, right?" he asked.

Kenny cocked his head slightly and nodded. "Yeah. He loves to cook."

"Did he plan them for a specific time to be done?"

He raised his brow, "Um, I was usually home by 4:10 from work, we have early dinners and he planned them for then," he shrugged. "Why?"

"Every detail matters. Thanks for the boxers info by the way, it'll fit in nicely with the case description," he smirked. Kenny half-heartedly laughed, turning once more and quietly walking out of the room. Murphy looked back to the cranberry box on the table, softly tapping his pointer finger against the wooden surface in thought. Twenty minutes of talking and only one tiny fact that he could possibly take from it, but, every little step was bringing him closer to his answer, and closer to Kyle.


	29. Chapter 29

He could feel the stony eyes watching him, tracing over his lean form as he moved around the kitchen, silently preparing a meal for him. He stumbled, catching himself on the counter and taking a few heavy breaths, the chain laying against his back making him hiss as it brushed over his clothed wounds. His jaw trembled as he reached his twitching fingers to his casserole dish and dragged it towards him.

He was so tired, so nauseated. He couldn't seem to bounce back from the medication like he had before, and it worried him. He didn't know jack shit about medicine, but he could only assume that tranquilizers weren't supposed to have such residual effects. He sniffled, mixing his mindless concoction of vegetables and cream of chicken soup with hazed eyes. He didn't know how this would taste. He didn't care. He'd only care if Craig hated it so much he beat him again.

Kyle's aching hands went to grab the dish, turning slowly to move it to the oven. His legs gave way and he squeaked out quietly, falling to the floor and the mixture splashing over his legs and the tile. He hissed at the heavy Pyrex smashing against his foot and bouncing off, landing with a loud clatter. Silently, he stared at the disaster under him, jaw trembling as he heard the kitchen chair Craig was situated upon scooting from the table.

He closed his eyes as a hand fell into his hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered, not wanting whatever was coming next.

"What was that?" Craig asked, kneeling down, avoiding the mess spread along the tile.

Gulping down a flare of weak pride, he repeated, "I'm sorry."

"You made a mess," he said plainly.

"I know."

He clucked his tongue a couple of times, looking between the redhead and the soupy disaster. "Don't like messes much, Broflovski."

He took a deep breath, "My legs gave out. From being fucking _poisoned_ ," he reminded him shadily. He screeched as the hand redirected from his hair to the back of his neck, shoving him down onto his stomach. He gasped as Craig held his face down against the spill.

"Bad," he said simply, easily containing Kyle's woozy struggles. Kyle coughed, nostrils filled with the overload of heavy scents. His arms flailed, trying to get himself up but slipping time and again. Craig watched him with a smirk, finally releasing his neck and watching him scramble up on all fours, panting and coughing out small bits of carrot. Kyle sniffled miserably, yelping as a roll of paper towels smacked against his face. "Clean it up," Craig said simply.

The redhead just nodded, clutching around the roll as Craig got to his feet, surveying the mess. Lila came up beside him, starting to lick the spill before he stopped her. "What's in there?" Craig asked.

"Um, cream of chicken. And...onions, garlic...some peppers-"

"Stop," Craig cut him off. "Clean it _quick_ before she eats some and gets sick from the onion and garlic," he ordered. Kyle took a deep breath, nodding and ripping towels off to begin slowly wiping off the floor. "I'll get take out I guess," Craig said simply. "Since you ruined dinner, you can go without," he shrugged, turning on his heel and calling Lila to follow him into the living room. Kyle watched after him dully before turning back to the soup on the floor and heaving a deep sigh. He should have figured. Better than having the shit kicked out of him at least. Tucking sullied hair behind his ear, he continued to scrub, tossing the dirtied, sopping towels into a mindless pile beside him.

He genially cleaned off the floor, grabbing his pile of paper rags and tossing them into the garbage can beside him, wiping the remaining residue off of the floor and himself as well as he could manage. Fingers still trembling, he grabbed the emptied dish from beside him and stood, placing it gently into the sink. He turned, wobbling as the world began to spin, trying to catch the counter before falling over and collapsing on the floor again.

Craig rolled his eyes from the living room at the noise, putting down his carry-out menu and hopping off the couch. "I swear to fuck if you made another mess, you're in a _lot_ of trouble," he warned, walking to the doorway of the kitchen. He looked to see Kyle still on the floor and not moving. He blinked. "Broflovski," he said firmly, raising his brow. He walked over to him and kneeled down beside him, watching for sudden movements. He looked at both of the boy's hands, quickly frisking under his shirt and boxers for any kind of potential weapon before returning back to staring at his face. Kyle's eyes were closed, his breathing shallow.

"Broflovski?" he asked, turning him over onto his back and lifting him slightly, putting his ear to his chest. He heard his heart steadily pumping away, sighing a bit in relief. He put him back on the floor and scowled. "Wake up!" he yelled, sitting him up against the cabinets. He narrowed his eyes, slapping the unconscious boy across the face violently, Kyle's head ricocheting against the wood. The redhead's eyes fluttered and a soft groan broke before he fell back again. "Shit," Craig muttered, undoing Kyle's leash and hefting him into the air. "Fucking nuisance, I have fucking work," he reprimanded him as he carried him into the bedroom. Carefully he lied the boy on the bed, watching his head listlessly fall to the side.

He tore open his lower nightstand drawer, fumbling around and finding the glucose tester he'd bought for him, ripping open the packaging and fumbling to get the battery inside. His eyes flickered to Kyle's unconscious form, cursing himself for not keeping a closer eye on his levels all this time. He finally assembled the device, grabbing Kyle's limp hand and pricking his finger. He bit his lip looking between the monitor and the silent boy.

His eyes widened as a clear '220' popped across the digital screen. "SHIT!" he spat, tossing the device onto the bed and running over to his closet, reaching up into his hiding spot and grabbing around for his bottles. He snagged Kyle's insulin and a needle, shoving everything else back into place. He quickly measured out Kyle's dosage and injected it into his hip. "Shit, shit, shit," he murmured, recapping the needle and setting it aside. His hands were quaking, unsure of how to proceed. Kyle woke up with the slap, so it wasn't a coma. That was _something_ in his favor at least.

Craig wove his fingers through his hair, cussing up a storm. He didn't pay _attention_ to his fucking levels, hell, he hadn't given Kyle his insulin in _days_. If Kyle slipped into a coma, what then? Hell, there _was_ no 'what then'. He'd have to let him die. He couldn't just drop him off at the hospital, he'd convict him as soon as he woke up.

He bit his knuckle, looking at the redhead again and leaning over him, stroking his soupy bangs back. "Don't you fucking die on me," he spat, fingers curling through the ember locks. "Damn it, Broflovski, don't you _fucking_ go out," he snapped. His hand fell listlessly and he slumped, turning and sitting next to Kyle on the bed, hand covering his mouth with worry. How could he proceed from here? He couldn't call off from work, it was too suspicious, still far too close to the crime for someone to not take notice. He looked at Kyle's face, slowly reaching up and stroking his smooth cheek with his thumb, shaking his head at himself. This was bad. This was _beyond_ bad. But it didn't matter.

He'd fought for this. He'd be damned if it'd be taken away from him like this.

* * *

His head was pounding, his mouth was dry, and a pronounced ache began throbbing anew as his eyes fluttered open. Kyle groaned, cringing in on himself and shivering, fingers clutching the comforter underneath him. Very carefully, he meandered his way up to the sides of his legs, rubbing his eyes and coughing softly. He felt like he was thrown through a brick wall, and with the way things seemed to be going for him lately, he couldn't exactly say he'd be surprised.

He looked to find himself in Craig's bed, glancing at the clock and cocking his head at the 7 PM spelled on the display. He narrowed his eyes, hadn't he been awake at 2 last he checked? He looked to see a note propped against the lit lamp beside a glucose tester, raising his brow and grasping the paper with weak fingers.

' _Blood sugar was at 220, gave you insulin. Cleaned you up. Doors and windows are locked, it's -10 with windchill outside. I'll be back at 9:30. Eat something.'_

Kyle blinked, lowering the note and looking to see himself free of a chain. His eyes widened, hopping off the bed and slowly limping to the living room. He made a sharp turn and threw open the coat closet, shoulders sinking at the bareness. Crafty bastard.

The redhead sighed, shutting the door and rubbing his arms self consciously. This was weird. _Beyond_ weird. He wasn't chained, he had his hands to use. He wasn't _helpless_...But he was still trapped. He scratched irritably at his clean hair, biting his lip. He didn't have a phone or a vehicle or even shoes. He was still fucking _stuck_. He dropped his head defeatedly, trudging back into the bedroom and swiping the glucose meter. He sighed, cursing at himself for forgetting all this time about his damn insulin. It could have killed him. He'd only fallen unconscious from blood sugar a handful of times, but he knew he was in for about three days of utter exhaustion after this.

He quickly pricked his finger with a small wince, another bout of disgust rising, knowing that Craig had bought the device for him, absolutely no doubt about it. A blinking 175 registered on the screen and he twisted his lips. Still too high for comfort. He threw the monitor back onto the nightstand, turning and heading back out into the kitchen. He looked down as Lila stood next to him and licked his leg, rolling his eyes at her. "Go the fuck away," he muttered, limping to the coffeepot and snagging a mug from the cabinet above him. He blankly went about preparing a pot, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he did so.

He set it to brew, looking around the kitchen and sighing. This was beyond eerie. He was casually making a drink in the house he was being held fucking _hostage_ in. Kyle shuddered, quickly walking into the living room and swiping the television remote. He didn't care if Craig would be angry about it, he needed the noise before he drowned in silent misery. The box flickered to life, reflecting in his dimmed eyes like stars. The news popped on in front of him and he lied the remote back down, content enough with hearing the voices of _real_ people echoing around the small home as they discussed yet another political scandal. He watched for a good few minutes, not hearing quite what they were saying, but taking comfort in the fact that it wasn't _Craig's_ voice.

Trudging back into the kitchen he ripped open the fridge, digging through the vegetable drawer. He took out a bag of spinach and tossed it on the counter, snagging two pieces of bread from the container on the top shelf. The coffeepot dinged and he methodically turned and began pouring himself a mug, snagging the powdered non-dairy creamer from beside it and listlessly preparing his drink.

His ears perked and his head snapped around as the clear name 'Broflovski' rang through the living room. He blinked, grabbing his cup and food and gimping his way back into the room, slowly walking over to see a picture of himself and Kenny on the TV. His shoulders sank and he slowly fell onto the couch, taking a sip of his coffee and turning up the volume just a tad.

" _...Still looking for the 22 year old who disappeared from his home two weeks ago with foul play suspected,"_ the reporter faded into his muffled hearing. Kyle's lips parted a bit in shock. Two weeks? It'd been _two weeks_? _"Authorities have no suspects in custody at this time, though Sergeant Yates of the South Park P.D. spoke earlier of the case this afternoon. With some unpleasant protest as a result,"_ the woman added.

Kyle narrowed his eyes confusedly as the image shifted to Yates standing with a reporter, looking beyond irritated. " _Well, we have a possible suspect that we're trying to crack down on. Someone very close to the victim,"_ he said. Kyle growled, clenching his fingers around his cup and taking a vicious bite of his bread.

" _And who would that be?"_ the reporter asked.

" _We believe that it's his boyfriend,"_ the man scoffed. Kyle's eyes widened with fury, entire body quaking. He knew Craig told him this but he'd _hoped_ that he was at least somewhat wrong.

" _I TOLD YOU IT'S NOT ME!"_ a familiar voice rang through the TV. Kyle's heart hitched, watching the camera whirl around to Kenny and Stan stomping towards the officer from the doors of the police station. _"Stop telling everyone I did ****ing did it!"_

Kyle shook his head, "Ken, what are you doing?" he whispered. He was losing his temper, and the closer Kenny got to losing his temper, the closer he got to knocking someone out. Knocking out an officer was not going to help _either_ of them.

" _McCormick, you better step down right now,"_ Yates warned.

" _Ken, come on,"_ Stan said softly, grabbing a hold of his arm and tugging him back. Kenny looked from him to the officer, baring his teeth and tears welling in his eyes.

He looked at the camera and Kyle's heart lurched into an utter helplessness as he returned Kenny's desperate expression. _"IT WAS CRAIG TUCKER! SOMEONE GO BREAK KYLE OUT BECAUSE I CAN'T!"_ he screamed before Yates shoved him away into Stan.

" _Last warning, McCormick!"_ he shouted.

" _Come on, Kenny, come on,"_ Stan coaxed, glaring daggers at the officer. _"Good ****ing job protecting and serving, you ***hole."_ He turned the blonde around, leading him with his arm behind his back. Kyle bit his trembling lip as he watched Kenny's shoulders heaving with sobs before the camera turned from him back to Yates.

The sergeant cleared his throat, _"The lying cries of a desperate man,"_ he explained away smoothly. _"Anyone caught harassing the innocently accused will be prosecuted. No exceptions."_

Kyle's jaw dropped, eyes blown wide. He couldn't be serious. He could _not_ have just fucking doomed him like that! He lowered his eyes into his hand, sniffling miserably. Shit. _Shit_.

He bit his knuckle, eyes fleeting around Craig's living room anxiously. He had to do something. The cops refused to listen. Kenny and Stan _couldn't_ get to him. He was on his own. He'd just _have_ to find his way out somehow...He looked down at his bruised leg and his body sunk defeatedly; A cruel reminder that he'd tried. He'd tried and _failed_ so terribly. And now he was trapped in the house, mother nature working against him on all accounts, his body barely able to rally the strength to do so much as walk from room to room. He leaned his head back, the closing words of his story unable to reach his ears. It didn't matter. He knew what they were saying: For anyone with information to call certain people. Too bad the _exact_ information was being so nonchalantly tossed aside, seen as the ramblings of a guilty man trying to keep himself out of trouble. After all, everyone knew the tragic story of love gone wrong brought in more viewers than a mere psychopath with misplaced feelings ever could.

Kyle curled up into himself, falling to his side on the cushions and staring blankly at the flashing colors in front of him. This was it. Every ounce of hope was being torn away from him all at once. Any positive outlook seemed to walk away with Kenny as he was forced around and away from telling everyone the cold, hard facts. He shut his eyes and took a shuddery breath. His life was being tossed away as casually as a snuffed out cigarette, and apparently the people who were supposed to save him were the ones stomping him down.


	30. Chapter 30

"And you always said you'd never let me get involved in your cases," the woman teased as she bustled around the kitchen.

Murphy smiled tiredly at her and shrugged, "I can't cook. I need this done _right_ , Anna."

"Hm," she mused, looking between her pots bubbling on the stove and back to Kyle's card. "Pretty detailed, I'm sure even _you_ would be able to figure it out, Mitch." He snorted, kissing her cheek lightly as she continued to turn the card in her slender fingers. "So what do you think happened?" she asked softly.

He sighed, "I'm not sure. A few theories floating around but..."

"But you feel like you have the right one," she finished. He shrugged sheepishly and she chuckled quietly. "You usually have the right one," Anna smiled at him.

"Yeah," he agreed blankly, lightly wrapping a finger in one of her long, black curls.

She kissed his hand, turning and heading back to the stove as the microwave timer went off. Murphy watched her as she seamlessly flowed through the kitchen, draining the pasta and preparing her casserole dish. Carefully, she poured the scalding cheese atop the penne and mixed it through. She slid the Pyrex into the top rack and reset the timer for forty minutes, taking a deep breath. "So," she said, standing and turning to face him as she shut the oven door. "Care to let me in on what we're doing here?"

"Timing," he explained.

"And you couldn't do this at the office because?" she quirked her brow.

"Because we don't have an oven for one thing," he smirked. "For another...Sarge isn't exactly on my side."

Anna's face fell sympathetically. "You know he trusts your judgement, Mitch."

"Not this time around," he sighed, scratching at his hair. "He's _dead_ set that it's the kid's boyfriend...but I'm not so sure."

"Who do you think it is then?" she cocked her head. "And don't give me that 'classified' crap you pull out because I'm _technically_ involved in the investigation now," she teased, pointing to her dirtied pans.

Murphy laughed and nodded. "I think it's one of the boyfriend's friends."

"Why?" she asked.

He let out a long breath, "Well...I can't say for sure," he delineated. "But if some of their friends are to be believed, then this guy's had a thing for the victim for awhile," he winced.

"Oh no," she said pitiably. She'd heard enough of Mitch's case stories to know that they never ended well, whether the victim made it out or not. "Do you think he's still..."

"I think he's alive," he nodded softly. "Again, I can't be sure, but my gut is just telling me he is."

She walked over back beside him, leaning on the table with him and linking her arm through his. She lied her head on his shoulder, "Your gut's usually right," she reminded him. "I'm sure you'll get him out."

He looked between her and the timer, down to 36 minutes and he sighed. He kissed the top of her head, his heart lurching sadly at the thought of Kenny's tear-filled eyes once more. "I hope so."

* * *

Kenny looked at the people crowding Stan's living room, taking a long breath and glancing to the cops still stationed across the street, their car gleaming in the streetlights. He shook his head, more than ready to just be _done_ with this whole disaster. "All right," he said, the group silently staring at him and wincing at his disheveled state. "Guys, what did you find?" he directed to Token, Clyde, and Tweek.

Token cleared his throat, "Well, nothing," he cringed. "We didn't go out to the barn, and we all looked around at what we could when we went over, but we didn't find _anything_ about Kyle."

Kenny's shoulders sank, "Nothing?"

Clyde shook his head, "If he has Kyle, he's hiding him _really_ well. Couldn't find anymore hair or anything." The blonde groaned, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He'd been expecting this all day waiting for them to come over with last night's report, but he wasn't exactly happy nonetheless.

Cartman rolled his eyes from his seat on a kitchen chair beside the couch. "Kinny, give it the fuck up. If Kahl's found, it'll probably be out in the woods all dismembered and sh-FUCK!" he screamed as Kenny leaped forward and tackled him down to the ground, fingers clenched around his collar.

Kenny shook him, slamming his bulbous head against the carpet. "Fatboy, I swear to _Christ_ if you don't knock it the fuck off I will fucking end you!" he shouted.

"Way to prove your innocence, Po'Boy!" he yelled back, the both of them glaring at each other furiously. "Get the fuck off of me!" he ordered.

"Don't _fucking_ keep saying Kyle's dead, then!" he smashed his head back once again. He looked up as Stan stepped beside them, kicking Cartman's arm angrily before gently reaching down and prying the blonde off of him.

"Next time, I'll let him break your skull," Stan warned, leading Kenny away back to the front of the room.

Cartman sat up, glaring at the two of them and rolling his eyes. "Look, I'm just fucking saying. Tucker isn't fucking smart enough to hide Kahl for this long if he's alive. Besides, why _would_ he?"

"You said it yourself, you piece of shit," Wendy scowled. "Craig has a thing for him."

He scoffed, getting back onto his feet and dusting himself off. "I _highly_ doubt he'd still feel that way after spending more than two hours with that Jewrat," he said dryly. "I doubt fucking him is _that_ fun."

The room fell silent before Kenny launched forward again, intercepted by Token and Clyde. "Dude, dude, stop," Token pleaded as Kenny struggled to get through and rip off Cartman's head.

"GET OVER HERE, FATASS!" he screamed.

Clyde winced as the blonde pushed against him to break through. "Kenny, stop! The cops are right outside! If you attack him they'll send you to jail!"

"I don't care," he seethed. "I wanna break his jaw!" Cartman's eyes widened and he backed away from the temperamental boy.

Stan walked up and grabbed around his shoulders, "Kenny, you _do_ care," he said. "If you're in jail, Kyle's fucking doomed, okay?" Kenny simmered slightly and looked at him with glistening eyes. "First things first. We save Kyle," he said firmly. " _Then_ you break his jaw," he jerked his head towards the heavyweight, who scoffed.

"We all _know_ that's what's happening!" Cartman protested.

Bebe walked over, slapping his face and leaving the brunette dumbfounded in the resounding echo. "Whether or _not_ that's what's happening, you keep your fucking mouth shut about it, Fatboy!" she said viciously. "Either you help us get Kyle out or you _leave_."

He looked at all the angry faces surrounding him and sighed disgustedly. "And just _what_ do you think should be done to save someone who probably isn't even there?" he glared.

"We don't know, that's why we're here!" Wendy snapped.

Kenny broke off of the boys holding him and stepped back, looking over the group with his jaw trembling. "I need a smoke," he croaked, turning on his heel and speeding out the front door. The group watched after him before eyes slowly slithered back to Cartman.

"Good job," Stan glared. "He's fucking broken in fucking half already and you're throwing him through a goddamn wood chipper!"

"Avoiding the possibilities isn't going to help anyone, Jockstrap!" he sneered. "Look, you guys are all real cute with your 'we can save him' mentality, but maybe you're forgetting the fucking facts," he glared. "Let's say that Tucker _does_ still have Kahl alive somewhere. Do you think he's going to just hand him over?" he quirked his brow.

"No," Tweek frowned. "But...but we can-"

"If he's _that_ interested in keeping a hold on Jewboy," he interjected, "then he'll sooner kill the fucker before he lets him go," he snapped. "And he'll kill anyone _else_ who tries to get near him."

Token crossed his arms and shifted a bit, "Well, then we rush him."

"And Craig cuts Kahl's throat and throws the corpse onto Kinny," he rolled his eyes. "People who pull this kind of shit don't want to lose entirely," he said firmly.

Stan sneered, "You'd know, you fucking psychopath."

He cocked his brow, "I've never kidnapped people. For this long," he shrugged. "But yeah, I'd _know_. And if Tucker has his 'prize'," he air quoted, "though I don't know how that kike is a prize, but whatever. Point is, he wants Kahl to himself. He doesn't _want_ him to be able to go back to his life."

Clyde blinked, "Craig wouldn't kill him. No way."

"We also said he wouldn't kidnap him," Token reminded him solemnly. "What if he's right?" he looked at Stan.

The noirette blinked, looking at the ground and feeling utterly lost. "I...I don't know."

"Do you want to take that risk?" Cartman demanded smartly.

Stan sighed, looking back through the front window to Kenny on the front porch smoking like his life depended on it and staring off into the night sky. "I don't know. But...we know Kyle would want us to."

* * *

Craig cursed to himself, fumbling with his keys in the cold night air, his breath seeping from his lips in streams of fog. He rolled his eyes, knowing all his locks were worth it but finding them a nuisance in the chill. He finally undid the last deadbolt and threw the door open, eyes automatically falling to a lump on the couch under a blanket. He sighed in relief, closing and redoing the door. He was alive. Good.

He tore off his jacket and threw it onto the hook, quietly stalking up to the couch and looking down at Kyle curled up and sleeping, mouth partially open as he gently snored. Craig looked at the nightstand, seeing his coffee cup and bag of spinach and rolling his eyes.

He reached down and grasped Kyle's shoulder. "Wake up, Broflovski," he ordered, shaking him roughly. Green eyes shot open into his and the redhead ducked down automatically, still echoing with drowsiness but easily peaking with alarm. "Get up," he said curtly. Kyle took a shaky breath, sitting himself up and letting the blanket slide down to his hip. Craig stared at him, captivated by the exhaustion and defeat ringing through his expression. "Come on," he jerked his head out of his staring and began walking towards the bedroom.

Kyle's jaw trembled, slowly meandering his way off the sofa and following silently after him. Craig watched him limping into the room, his entire posture slackened. He looked awful. He snagged the monitor and snapped on a new lancet, holding out his hand expectingly. Kyle blinked, giving his own and wincing as the needle pierced his finger. Craig's grip remained tight around his wrist as he watched the monitor loading the results. Kyle let out a discontented noise at the strength wrapped around his bone, the noirette not paying him the slightest attention. A reading of 126 popped up and he sighed in relief.

"You're fine," he said, whipping his wrist forward and throwing him onto the bed. Kyle hissed at the impact, watching confusedly as Craig stepped out of the room and left him alone. Slowly, he sat back up, rubbing his temple and sniffling. He felt terrible, every inch of him seemed to be rebelling with pain and a heady misery. Kyle rubbed his arm tiredly, staring at the navy comforter below him with eyes hooded by thick lashes. His mind just seemed blank, too tired to comprehend just what was happening, almost too tired to register his fear. Almost.

He yelped as Craig came back behind him and snared his collar, ripping him back a bit by the throat. He rasped, fingers coming to claw at the metal before it slacked almost as quickly as it was tugged. He watched with a sinking heart as Craig attached the now-connected leash to the headboard, wrapping it around the bars time and again before securing it with one of his damn padlocks.

"You're sleeping in here tonight," he muttered.

"Let me go," he whispered, eyes slipping closed to block the view of his imprisonment. He knew it was a moot cause at this point, but he was slipping far too quickly into a dubious acceptance of his situation, weary body and mind trying to shut him down. His anger and fear were being brushed aside for exhaustion and the instinctive need to not be hurt.

"No," he said curtly. He backed off and stared at him hungrily. He was alive, he was awake, and he _wasn't fighting_. "I'm letting Lila back in," he announced. He reached down and snapped the waistband of his boxers, getting a startled flinch out of the redhead. "Take those off," he demanded before turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

Kyle stared after him with wide eyes before dropping back down to the comforter and sinking despondently. This had to be a bad dream. It _had_ to be. He put his hands over his eyes and shook his head. What was _happening_? Why was _everything_ falling apart? Why was this happening to _him_ of all people? And where the living fuck was someone to save him?

He sat there, lost in his thoughts as Craig came back in, frowning at Kyle still clothed and practically motionless. He shook his head, softly closing the door and approaching him, shoving his back. "Hey, you heard me," he snapped.

Kyle raised his teary eyes up towards him, bared teeth clattering. "Fuck. You," he seethed. "You almost killed me today! You think I'm going to just lie back and spread my fucking legs for you?!" he cried out.

"It'd be in your best interest," he replied darkly, grabbing one of his wrists and ripping it towards himself. "The sooner you behave, the sooner things go easier for you."

Kyle sneered, rearing back his free hand and slamming it into Craig's eye. The noirette hissed, backing up and cupping the injury, glaring viciously at the small redhead. Kyle returned the expression, ignoring all the warning signs flaring in his mind. This wasn't going to happen like this. Tired or not, he was _not_ going to just let his life be left to Craig's whim. He wasn't out for the count just yet.

Craig lowered his hand and shook his head slowly, beginning his approach. Kyle turned over and scrambled back before the leash stopped him short. The noirette grabbed him and threw him down onto his stomach, moving to straddle over him and hold him down. He wrapped strong fingers around his wrists, snapping them down onto the bed and watching as Kyle wriggled under him. " _Bad_ ," he said angrily.

Kyle looked back at him and snarled, "You ain't seen _nothin'_ yet," he bit, thrashing around and kicking back against the hovering boy.

Craig calmly and silently went about what they could call their routine at this point. Blandly, he subdued Kyle's wrists behind his back, all the while listening to Kyle screaming and shouting with nothing but a flicker of annoyance. He sighed to himself as he lazily stroked his fingers along the back of Kyle's neck as the redhead tried to fight out of his zip ties, once again slicing his wounds right open. Craig continued moving him about as he wished, shaking his head all the while. The quiet meekness was short lived, as he should've expected. A guy could hope though.

Kyle found himself once again on the trapeze wire of his sanity, balance skewed and someone jumping frantically on the opposite end. Time was meshing together, every movement Craig made against him being both the longest and shortest moments of his life smashed in a nauseatingly vertiginous dance. Hot tears trailed over his cheeks as a hand slapped over his lips and a thinly lubed cock rolled in and out of his ass with slow, deep strokes. He jerked around incessantly, knowing well enough he wasn't getting anywhere, but stubbornly _refusing_ to let Craig think he'd won him completely.

His eyes flickered to the covered window as a shaky breath flew from his nose over Craig's steady hand. _'I'll kill this fuck if I have to_ ,' he thought stubbornly, groaning as Craig slapped his ass with a heavy hand. _'I don't care if I'm alone. I'm getting the fuck out of here.'_

* * *

"How long's it been?" Anna asked sleepily, glancing to her husband with heavy eyes.

He glanced at his timer on his phone and bit his lip. "15 min-" he stopped and looked up as movement caught his eye. "There it goes," he murmured as smoke began surging from the sides of their oven.

"Can we take it out before it sets the house on fire?" she asked nervously.

He nodded, "Open the back door, we'll put it out there." She hurried to do so, watching as Murphy quickly shut off the oven and grabbed their mitts. He opened the door and coughed through the smoke pouring out, ripping the dish out of its hold and hurrying to drop it down into the snow of their patio. They both stared at the steaming, charred pasta wafting innocently in the light snowfall. Murphy nodded, "Looks about the same as theirs did. Kenny told us it wasn't on fire, just smoking," he said, ushering Anna back inside. He opened the kitchen window, slipping out of his sweatshirt and placing it over her shoulders.

She smiled gratefully, clutching it around her arms. "Did that help you?"

He took out a piece of paper from their menu drawer and a pencil, walking over to the table and placing it down. "We have a newer oven, and they're usually stronger, right?"

She cocked her head, "Right."

"An older oven at the same temperature, do you think it'd make a difference in time?"

Anna looked up thoughtfully, "If it did, maybe only about a five or so minute delay I would think."

He nodded. "All right, so 40 minutes plus, let's say 20. Their oven looks pretty old and worn," he said, licking over his lips as he scribbled numbers down. Anna looked over his shoulder curiously. "So the victim-"

"Kyle," she said exhaustively. He looked at her and she shook her head with a sad smile. "I'm not stupid, Mitchell. I know what case this is."

He huffed out a small laugh and nodded. "Right. Kyle planned their dinners for 4:10. And the recipe takes 40 minutes."

"So he would've put it in at about 3:30," she continued.

"Right," he confirmed. "But, Tucker was over at 3:30, so the time can be variable. Depending on how long he was talking to him."

She licked over her lips, "Well, how do we know how long that was?"

"With Kenny," he murmured, starting another column on the other side of the paper. "His work confirmed his leaving at 4:30, he grabbed another half hour for possible overtime. I drove between his shop and their house, each time it took ten minutes, give or take for the one stoplight between the both of them," he narrowed his eyes in thought. "He made the 911 call at 4:45."

"So he got there at 4:40, which means Kyle put it in the oven at 3:40," she said, leaning her elbow on the table and watching him work as she rested her cheek in her palm.

Murphy bit his lip. "Both of the needles were at the crime scene, and those two drugs, depending on the patient, can take 10 to fifteen minutes to take full effect. Kyle's a small guy, so I'd wager closer to ten..." he trailed off and scratched at his hair. "We can only assume that he wasn't taken from the house until he was unconscious, so he wouldn't make a fuss."

"So when _was_ he taken?" she asked.

"The only other person seen at the house left at roughly 4:00," he murmured. "Kenny said that Kyle was meticulous with answering any texts that he sent."

Anna raised her brow, "So?"

"Kenny sent him a text at 4:10 apologizing because he'd be late. Kyle never answered," he elaborated. "So between 3:50 and 4:10 was when he was taken. But I'm willing to bet he was out of there by 4:00, and he was in the bed of Tucker's truck," he frowned and shook his head.

She jolted up, "Then go tell Harrison! You've done the math!"

He snorted, "You think _that_ will convince him? You know how he is. I'd need more than just a rough estimate from burnt pasta to get him on my side," he said tiredly. "But this definitely proves one thing: There's no way in _hell_ Kenny could've done it."

"Not in five minutes," she nodded. "He probably was too busy getting the pasta out of the oven and searching for Kyle."

"Exactly," he nodded. "He called right away. Even if he was literally speeding down the road like crazy he never could've made it home in time and manage to subdue, drug, and hide Kyle."

Anna brushed a lock of hair back, "And with the way the roads are, he probably had to drive even slower."

"Right," he agreed. Murphy sighed, moving to close their door and window before plopping down into their kitchen chair and rubbing his temple.

"What now?" she asked, massaging his shoulders gently.

He looked at her, grabbing her hand and kissing her wrist lovingly. "Now? Now I get to make an appointment with the vet."


	31. Chapter 31

He had grown used to sleeping with his hands behind his back. He'd figured out the only way to be able to rest with a chain tethering him. What Kyle _hadn't_ grown accustomed to, however, was sleeping pulled up against Craig's bared chest. He'd been lying like this from the night before until now, as sun just barely peeked through the stapled-down curtains. His eyes were burning with the need to sleep, unable to do so fucking _cuddling_ with his abductor. Craig's scent made him beyond nauseous, a sour mix of cheap cologne and animal fur. Nothing like Kenny's morning smell, a comforting bliss of vanilla fabric softener and his personal earthy musk. Kenny was a terrarium; full of life and nature, grown in soil that Kyle himself had tended to, made all his own with an undying love and patience. Craig was nothing more than a landfill, a collection of every cheap thing smashed together to form one unanimously foul mass, nothing more than an eyesore to every passerby who recognized him for what he truly was.

Kyle flinched as Craig's alarm began ringing, the noirette groaning and reaching his hand back, slapping it listlessly against the top. He looked down to see the redhead secure in his arms and chuckled at his fuming exhaustion. "Good morning," he smirked.

"Die," Kyle replied simply, trying to pull away before Craig's hand slid into his hair and pulled his head back. The boy looked down at him with half-lidded eyes, sleep disappearing at the sight of the redhead in his bed. He sighed contentedly, leaning down and kissing under his ear. Kyle whined in protest, trying to close off the access before Craig nipped at him sharply. Kyle blinked back tears, staring at Craig's shoulder as he was rolled over and straddled with the monster still attached to his neck. "Stop, just let me sleep," he pleaded wearily as Craig kicked his way between his legs and ground down against him.

"Come on, I _know_ you like it in the mornings," he taunted. "McCormick told me _all_ about that."

"Did he mention I only like it with _him_?!" he shouted, groaning as Craig continued dryly rutting against him.

Craig smirked, running his thumb down his cheek and over his swollen lips, still ripe from his suckling the night before. "Still so stubborn," he murmured, watching Kyle's face contort uncomfortably in his compromised position. "You know, if you'd just give _in_ ," he emphasized with a strong press against his hips, "you'd get some good feeling out of this too," he purred.

Jade eyes locked in his, thin brows furrowing angrily. "What's your endgame?"

Craig stopped his grinding and raised his brow, "Excuse me?"

"Where exactly do you think this is going to end up?" he barked. "Are you betting on fucking Stockholm Syndrome or _what_?"

He shrugged, "Not particularly." He reached up and cupped his cheek, stroking down the reddened, heated skin gently. "I'm thinking I keep you for about a year here, then move us way out to the middle of nowhere where _no one_ will find us," he smirked. Kyle's heart dropped at the casual nature of his voice. "You'll just get used to it. I don't _care_ if you're happy about it or not. I can work with either one."

Kyle sneered, "You _really_ think you can keep me here that long?"

"Long enough to avoid suspicion? Yes. Hell, with the way things are going, I could probably pack up and leave _now_ and not be followed," he said confidently. He tilted Kyle's chin up and fiddled with his name tag, smiling fondly. "It'll be perfect," he murmured. "You, me, and no fucking McCormick trying to butt in."

"I'll kill you," he said, jaw shaking. "I'll fucking _kill you_ before I let that happen."

"Uh huh," he said unbelievingly. "I'm sure. Just like you've done such a _fine_ job of defending yourself these past couple of weeks?"

He glanced at him and stiffened with his shoulders straightening cockily, "That black eye seems to think so," he said snidely.

Craig rolled his eyes. "Wow. A shiner. Amazing."

"A shiner on someone who doesn't want anyone to know they have a _hostage_ ," he reminded him sharply. "You live 'alone', remember?" he scoffed. "Gonna tell people you fell into the doorknob? You realize that if the cops get suspicious of _that_ , you may have to take off your shirt to be searched for other wounds," he said dryly, jerking his head towards his bared torso. "You have my fucking defensive wounds all over, Dumbshit."

He smirked, "You know, that's just something about you that I can't help but hate." He clasped his hand around his throat, watching his eyes bulge in the slightest and a light wheeze hissing through. "You think you're _so_ fucking smart, don't you, Broflovski?" he said, keeping him down with his stare as he blindly fumbled in his drawer for his lube. "So fucking smart, but you can't see _glaringly_ obvious shit right in front of you," he quirked his brow. He quickly prepared himself, eyes tracing over Kyle's exposed lower half with an unquenchably hungry gaze.

"What are you...talking about?" he worked out with a wince.

"Well, let's start with the fact that you let me in your house," he said smoothly, grabbing under Kyle's hips propped from his tied hands and slowly guiding himself down into the tight heat. Kyle yelped and squirmed, _beyond_ loathing the fact that he was still somewhat stretched from the previous night. Craig seated himself inside of him comfortably, taking a long, happy breath at Kyle's body spasming around him, trying to get him out. He took both his hands and grabbed Kyle's legs, hiking his lean calves over his shoulders. Kyle hissed through gritted teeth, looking away from him and crying out as he slowly began to thrust.

"You let me in when you _knew_ something was 'off'," he said with a dark humor. "Because you 'trust McCormick with your life'," he mimicked, giving a particularly rough jerk and watching him arch in pain. "Too bad it was more literal than you thought, huh?" he grinned evilly, leaning down and nipping his collarbone.

Kyle's lungs were being crushed, his entire body folded in on itself as Craig kept him propped, opening him wider. Hot, scared gasps broke through his tender lips, head shaking around frantically. " _Stop_ ," he could barely eek out.

Craig chuckled, leaning back and watching his cock disappearing time and again in the small redhead. He noted the minute tremors that racked his thighs with each propulsion, heard the desperate scratching of his trapped hands against the sheets. Kyle's body was his symphony. Each beat, each stroke of notes was his to compose. He could do as he wished; Make it a soothing ballad of quiet inner calamity, or make him a jumbled dissonance of clashing notes. Right now, he was a minor second, body jerking in displeased fashion, every nerve fighting against the natural state. But as his body was in disarray, Craig's own was seemingly forming inside of him like the clear cut tone of a perfect A sharp, crisp and clean. He was the baseline, the universal. He was the pitch to which Kyle's body had to fall in sync despite his struggles. Roll it in or out, press the mouthpiece accordingly, adjust his strings. It didn't matter. Either way, Kyle was going to fall into his consonance whether he wanted to or not.

Kyle leaned his head back and hissed, mouth hanging open as he panted in agony. This was still just too surreal. He was nothing but a doll for Craig. The noirette forgot he took a fucking _person_. He just wanted something to make up as he pleased, have it cook meals for him and sit quietly in the corner, to lie on its back and praise him as he took advantage of it at his leisure. Tears beaded his lashes like moonbeams dancing on rain-soaked tree tops, anger steadily rising like a fire refusing to be doused by the drizzle.

He couldn't let this keep happening. He _wouldn't_.

Craig kissed his neck again, the redhead bashing his jaw against him to ward him off. The noirette chuckled, biting down into his shoulder hard enough to break skin, hips slapping against him sporadically. Kyle yelped with each impact, each new angle Craig shifted into opening him wider, demanding his body to take on more than it seemed capable of with each turn. Craig's tongue traced along the freckles splashing his shoulder from his loosely hanging shirt, tasting the sweet spice along his palate and shuddering. No gourmet dish could ever compare.

He groaned, leaning his head down against his skin as his still groggy body finally began to coil, Kyle's breathy cries pressing him all the more close. "Fuck," he grunted, hands dropping from Kyle's thighs to grab his ass, spreading him further and propelling fast enough to feel the friction warming between their skin. Kyle's chest rapidly rose and fell, eyes blown wide at the intensity befalling him. He groaned out disgustedly as Craig once more released inside of him, his cock continuing throughout and letting the mess seep out and run down Kyle's milky skin.

Craig very genially slowed his hips down, rolling time and again until he couldn't take the tightness any longer and pulling out exhaustively. He smiled and nuzzled against Kyle's neck.

"You sick fuck," Kyle muttered, the spark dying with the humiliation swamping over his eyes like mud.

Craig just shook his head, planting a final kiss against his tendon before pulling up and back, letting Kyle's aching legs fall around him and hovering over him, staring at the hatred mottling Kyle's embarrassment like lace. "I can just tell a slut like you _loves_ to be filled up, _regardless_ of whose dick it is."

Kyle took a long, steadying breath through his nose. "Every time you've fucked me? That's a fucking finger you've lost," he promised.

Craig snorted and rolled his eyes, brushing his lips over his brow. "Well, I think we're past that..." he grinned lecherously, biting at his chin. "Let's work on the toes."

* * *

Murphy glanced at his watch, tapping his foot impatiently. He only had another 45 minutes of Yates' lunch, he needed this to be sped along and fast. A knock came at the door and he shot his head over. "Yes?" The door quietly opened, Ben and Kara being let into the room by an officer. Murphy sighed in relief and got to his feet. "Thank you so much for coming," he said gratefully.

They both shook his hand and smiled. "Not at all," Ben nodded. "Though, we do have to ask if this will take very long?"

"Any particular reason?" he asked, gesturing for them to take a seat at the table.

"We have a conference to attend in Boulder," Kara explained. "We were supposed to be leaving about now, but we told them we would be late."

Murphy nodded, "I won't take much of your time. Thanks for working this in."

"We want to help," Ben assured him. "It's just that we don't know what else to tell you."

The officer tongued over his lips, grabbing a manilla folder from beside of him. "I need you to see if you can identify the person at Kyle and Kenny's house," he said, pulling out a stack of six papers. He laid three of them down, eyes lingering on Craig's stuffed in the pile. It'd taken a bit of photoshop, but he'd managed to make Craig's senior school ID photo match the lineup background. He placed the six of them facing the vets, each of them with thick black hair and a stone-cold face.

"We didn't get a very good look at them," Ben murmured, eyes scanning over the papers listlessly. He shook his head, "I have no idea which one it is."

Murphy shifted his eyes to Kara, whose eyes were narrowed in thought. "Mrs. Wyatt?" he questioned.

She cocked her head, staring intensely at Craig's photo. "He looks familiar," she pointed at him. "I...I don't _think_ it was from the house though," she blinked.

The detective's heart leapt with hope. "Think hard. It _is_ possible you saw him elsewhere. Like a store or your clinic or on the street," he shrugged.

Her green eyes lit with recollection. "He's the pet store owner," she said. "I met him when I was giving the demonstration!" she looked at her husband.

Ben blinked, " _That's_ Mr. Tucker? From his sunny disposition I figured he was in his damn sixties," he rolled his eyes.

Murphy narrowed his sight, "What demonstration?"

Kara looked at him and shrugged, "I went to give a public demonstration of how we perform surgeries."

He blinked, "You did a surgery in the-"

"No, no, no," she waved her hands in front of her and chuckled. "Lately there's been growing concern over the idea of spaying and neutering," she explained. "People think it's hurting the animals."

"When in truth _not_ doing the surgeries is what hurts them," Ben added.

"Right," he nodded slowly with a raised brow.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, "I went and gave a short presentation on how the animals are treated, how the surgeries work, the safety measures, how we give them medicine to help them sleep through it. You know, just some basic information. Mr. Tucker made a deal with us that he'd promote us as the store's go-to clinic if we'd help educate."

Murphy's eyes widened. "It was his idea?"

Ben nodded, "Yeah, and we loved it. It's good to get the truth out there, you know? And free publicity is never bad," he shrugged sheepishly.

"You mentioned medication," Murphy narrowed his eyes. "Did you happen to bring any with you?"

She nodded. "Yes. I took in bottles and took out bits with syringes for people to see. People tend to feel better if they _know_ what's being put in their bodies, and the same goes for knowing what goes in their animal's," she smiled.

He blinked rapidly, worry twisting in his chest, "What were the medications?"

She looked up thoughtfully, "Well. We had the Lidocaine, some Diazepam, the Acepromazine, Midazolam..."

"Was there ketamine?" he asked softly, immediately alarmed at the familiar sedative making way into the list.

They both looked at him curiously and nodded. "Yes, we use ketamine for most of our surgeries," Ben explained.

Murphy's hands were shaking, biting his lip nervously. "Did they leave your sight?"

"I left them there at the store overnight because I wouldn't have time the next day to run to the office and get them before the demonstration," Kara said. "Mr. Tucker kept them in his safe."

"And did you get _all_ the bottles back, all of the medication?" he demanded.

Ben nodded, "Yes. The levels seemed good aside from the little bit Kara took out," he gestured to his wife. They saw his finger tapping on his chin nervously and they glanced at each other. "Why?" he pressed.

"Mr. and Mrs. Wyatt, can you do me a favor?" Murphy asked. They nodded slowly. "I know you're in a hurry to leave town, but I need you to bring me something from your office."

"Absolutely," Kara said. "What do you need?"

"I need the exact bottles of Midazolam and ketamine that you took to the store," he instructed. "I need them to be the _exact_ bottles," he repeated. "Would that be doable?"

Ben blinked, "Yes. We set them aside in case of further demonstrations...Is...Do you think they were tampered with?"

He looked between the both of them and sighed. "Let's just say I'm glad you didn't inject them into a dog before we take a look at them." They looked at each other in fright.

"What about the others?" Kara asked worriedly. "We ran out of Diazepam from our regular stock and used the demonstration one. It's supposed to calm them down and help with blocking the memory, we wouldn't know if it was a naturally calm animal if it worked."

He held up his hand, "As far as I can tell, it's just the Midazolam and ketamine. If it would make you more comfortable, we can take a look at the others as well. But those two are absolutely vital."

Ben pulled out his phone, quickly tapping away and holding it to his ear, Murphy sighing in relief at their willingness to cooperate. He'd ran into far too many people in his years with no guilt whatsoever that just didn't want to help. "Nancy?" the man asked. "Ben. Yeah. Listen, I need you to send someone to the police station. Have them bring all of our demonstration sedatives." He paused, nodding along slowly to the other end of the line. "Right away, Nance. You'll only be about ten minutes backed up and they're just going to have to deal with it," he said firmly. "Grab the Diazepam we have in the back as well. Thanks, Nancy," he finished, hanging up the phone and looking at the officer with worried eyes. "Someone will be here with it in about twenty minutes."

He smiled gratefully, "Thank you so much. You're making this much easier."

Kara bit her lip, wringing her fingers nervously. "Officer, the news said Kyle was drugged."

He nodded, "Yes. From what we can gather he was."

"You think he stole our medication to use on him, don't you?" she whispered.

Murphy took a deep breath. "If he didn't, it's a _hell_ of a coincidence. We'll know in a few days. Any untampered medication will be returned," he assured them. "And...please," he held up his hand. "I need you two to be absolutely discreet. I technically just told you classified information," he admitted sheepishly.

"Of course," Ben assured him. "We don't want Kyle to be in any more danger than he already is. Besides, we'll be in Boulder until next Tuesday. Not many people to talk to about small town abductions up there," he smiled meekly. "Is that all we can do, Sir?"

"I think so," he nodded solemnly, shaking their hands and getting to his feet with them. "Thank you again."

"Not at all," Kara said. "If there's _anything_ else, just call the number on our card and leave a message. We'll call you back the _second_ we have a free minute."

He smiled gratefully and nodded, watching the two of them walk off and out of the room. The grin dropped with his heart, gathering his pictures and shoving them back into his folder, gulping dryly. This was getting _too_ close for Craig to be a victim of circumstance, but he had no choice. He _had_ to be certain.

"Murphy!" a voice called, his head shooting over to see Yates walking in with a smug stride about him.

"Sir?" he raised his brow.

He cocked his head a bit, jerking his head back and crossing his arms. "Saw the couple walkin' out, who're they?"

"Neighbors of McCormick and Broflovski," he sighed tiredly.

"Oh?" his eyes sparked. "Anything?"

Murphy ran through his consideration of telling him everything before deciding against it. He didn't need the sergeant making the tests seem unimportant and delaying a possible rescue. "No, just how nice the boys were," he lied.

Yates scoffed and rolled his eyes. "McCormick must've been a hell of a drama student." His partner just stayed silent as the man shook his head. "Anyway, we got a call on the hair."

"We did?" he asked hopefully.

He smirked and shrugged, "Dog's," he said. "They just looked under the damn scope and called us right away. Told 'em to toss it, unless you think Tucker turned Broflovski into a dog, that is," he raised his brow amusedly.

Murphy sighed to himself and forced a chuckle out of his lips. "I suppose that'd be ridiculous, Sir."

"Damn straight," he nodded firmly, patting him on the back. "Let's keep workin' our angle," he directed, turning on his heel and heading back out the door. The man watched after him and heaved a deep sigh, glancing at the folder in his hand and opening it to Craig's picture, scowling. Yates could work the Kenny angle all he wanted, but he still had his own digging left to do.


	32. Chapter 32

Kenny stared at the notepad in front of him, eyes narrowed at his own hastily scribbled writing. Various ideas, ranging from calling the FBI to faking a heart attack to get snuck out of the house were splayed before him. He sighed, scratching at his hair and looking at the group spread out in Stan and Wendy's living room, all of them staring off thoughtfully.

"What about...a dog catching Kyle's scent?" Bebe asked.

Stan scoffed, "That should've been the _first_ fucking thing they did. But with no warrant they won't go onto the property. And none of us even have a damn dog that can do that," he sighed.

"Besides, knowing that sergeant dickfuck, he'd find a way to say _I_ took Kyle's clothes and rubbed them over the barn doors just so I could 'frame' Craig," Kenny rolled his eyes. He put his chin into his palm and sighed sadly. "Guys, I'm at the point I'm willing to shoot down those cops to get to him."

"Not exactly a good plan, Ken," Token inputted quietly. "Understandable, but it won't help either of you."

He closed his eyes and nodded, "I know. I just feel _so_ out of options right now, you know?"

"We know, Sweetie," Wendy said sympathetically, walking over and sitting down beside him and rubbing his arm. "We'll figure this out, okay?" she reassured him. She looked around the room and sighed. "Anyone else have any ideas?"

Tweek shook his head, biting his fingernail nervously. "What do we do?" he asked shakily. "What if Kyle's on his deathbed and we-"

"Tweek, _stop_ ," Clyde slapped his hand over his mouth, looking to see Kenny looking absolutely devastated. "Ken, I'm sure he's okay," he said hurriedly. "Fatass said Craig wouldn't want to let go of him, so he wouldn't let Kyle die, okay?"

He put his face in his hands and shook his head, "God, I don't know which is worse," he whispered.

"Shh," Wendy cooed, hugging him around his shoulders. "We're gonna get him out and he's going to be just fine, Kenny. He's going to see you and he's going to feel safe and happy."

"Unless Tucker fucked him up too badly," Cartman shrugged casually, waving off the death glares he was receiving yet again. "Guys, you need a realist in this damn little Save-the-Jew cult, all right? Kahl's fucking human if you've forgotten," he quirked his brow. "Every human has their breaking point."

Butters frowned disapprovingly, "But Kyle...Why, why his is probably further than all of ours!"

He looked at him expectantly, "Oh? So tell me, how long would it have taken any of _us_ to break from his situation? A day? Three max?"

"Cartman, knock it off," Stan warned.

"No, you assholes need to _listen_ ," he emphasized. "Believe it or not, I'm _not_ against getting the Jew back, because frankly, all of you are fucking annoying with him gone. My point is, how _much_ of him are you actually going to get back?"

Bebe scoffed, "Kyle's _not_ a fucking vase, Cartman. He's not going to be shattered into fucking pieces that can't be re-glued."

"You're right," he agreed. "That dumbshit is a candle."

Kenny cocked his brow, "A...a candle?"

Amber eyes slid over to his and a curt nod followed. "Tucker set him on fire. And his little wick is slowly going down and the wax is fucking disappearing."

Wendy held Kenny tighter and scowled, "And you know what candles _do_ when the fire's gone? They fucking re-solidify, Fatboy."

"But what about when the fire isn't put out?" he challenged. "You're left with nothing but what sticks in the fucking corners of the jar. It doesn't magically reappear. Once it's gone, it's _gone_. It takes a long ass time, but parts of the Jew are probably long gone."

Stan scoffed disgustedly. "You _know_ Kyle wouldn't let a shit-for-brains like Tucker burn him down."

"That 'shit-for-brains' has been five steps ahead of your operative this whole time," he reminded him in a bored tone. "You're right, Kahl's stubborn as fuck, but like I said, _everyone_ has their breaking point. Whether or not he's hit it, we don't know."

"Which is _why_ we need to get him out before he does!" Kenny insisted, getting to his feet and looking over the group. "Guys, you know how Ky is. He's going to keep fighting and we need to do the same."

Cartman folded his hands and looked at him with a cocked brow, "And what if he's stopped?"

"What?" he blinked.

He shrugged, "What if Kahl hit that point? What if he's not Kahl anymore?"

"He's been gone three weeks, not three years," Stan hissed.

Cartman smacked his lips, "But subjected to three weeks of _what_? I highly doubt that Tucker's being treating him like a prince. He's probably lucky if he's being treated like the piss boy," he said blandly. "You all know how Kahl is," he gestured to the lot of him. "What's his greatest weakness?"

Kenny blinked, "That spot behind his ear?"

He rolled his eyes, "No, you fucking destitute dimwit. I mean _emotionally_. What's the _two_ things that always get him to cave quicker than anything?"

They all looked at each other before the blonde looked at him again with narrowed eyes. "When someone's hurt."

"And when his _pride_ is hurt," he finished. "I doubt that bein' Tucker's little blowup doll is settling well on him," the brunette shrugged. "And, if Tucker knows him at all, he probably threatened someone or something..." he focused back on Kenny with a smirk, " _Or_ he keeps reminding him of _you,_ Po'Boy."

Butters pouted, "What would that do?"

"Remind him of how much Kinny's hurting," he said as though it were the most obvious fact in the world. "Kahl's _awful_ at staying tall when Kinny's a wreck," he gestured to the dumbstruck blonde.

Clyde raised his brow, "The fuck are you talking about?"

Stan bit his lip, hating to agree with the heavyweight, but a very particular memory surging through the surface. "Remember when Kenny got depressed a few years back? Kyle wore himself out worrying about him. Ken got better, but Ky was so strung out himself it took him a few days to jump back."

"He couldn't function," Cartman recapped smoothly, casually flicking a piece of lint from his bangs.

Kenny's heart dropped, "But Kyle _knows_ how to prioritize," he whispered. "He...he _knows_ that _he's_ the main concern, not me."

"Whether or not he knows that doesn't fucking matter with him," the brunette scoffed. "Remember when you had a cold and he had fucking pneumonia?" he questioned.

The blonde sank back down onto the window bench staring at the ground. Unfortunately ,he did. Kyle still went out of his way to make Kenny soup and get his fever down, meanwhile constantly ignoring his own ailments until it landed him in the hospital for a couple of days. "Oh shit," he whimpered, covering his eyes and shaking his head.

Wendy and Stan looked at each other before each of them gently rubbed his shoulders, unsure of how to comfort him. The weight of the matter seemed to be increasing by the minute, and this time they couldn't yell at Cartman for being completely in the wrong.

A sound broke through the heavy moment, all eyes turning to Butters who grabbed his phone with the dangling Hello Kitty charm out of his pocket. He cocked his head at the unfamiliar number and put it to his ear. "H-hello?"

" _Hello, is this Mr. Leopold Stotch?"_

"Yup, that's me," he blinked.

" _Hi, this is Detective Murphy of the South Park P.D., I was wondering if you have a second?"_

He nodded, "Absolutely..." he looked around the room and cleared his throat. "Is um, is this about Kyle?"

A pause on the line came and the room sat up in full attention, Butters taking his cue and switching his phone onto speaker, putting a finger to his lips for the rest of them. _"Yes, Mr. Stotch, this is related to Mr. Broflovski's case,"_ Murphy answered. " _According to the roster for your place of employment, you're the assistant manager?"_

Butters winced, "Well...Well I mean technically it ain't official."

" _But you_ _ **do**_ _occasionally assume the role?"_

"Yes, Sir, I do," he mumbled, tucking some hair behind his ear nervously.

Murphy was silent for another beat, the clear sound of papers being shuffled around coming through the speaker. _"You're under Mr. Tucker, correct?"_

"That's right," he nodded. "Craig's been manager for years."

" _Do your duties entail you closing the store when he's not on duty?"_

Butters blinked confusedly, "Yessir."

" _So you have keys for the facility and everything that requires authorized access?"_

"Um, yes I do."

Murphy let out what seemed to be a sigh of relief, the group looking at one another confusedly. _"When is the next shift where you close the store without him?"_ he asked.

Butters looked up thoughtfully, "That'd be...tomorrow night if I ain't mistaken."

" _Would you mind terribly if I came in to do some questioning? I need to see some of your security footage."_

Kenny straightened up, eyes shining hopefully. Butters looked at his pleading expression and nodded briskly, "Sure, Sir. Whatever you need I'll help ya with."

" _Excellent_ ," the detective said. _"When does the store close?"_

"Nine o'clock, Sir."

" _I'll be there then,"_ he informed him. _"And I need it to be just you and I, no spare employees. They could interfere with the investigation."_

Butters nodded, "I'll make sure of it."

" _Thank you, Mr. Stotch. I'll see you tomorrow night_ ," Murphy finished, hanging up the phone.

The blonde blinked, hanging up his own end and looking at Kenny's forlorn expression. "That's weird. They already came 'round t' ask us 'bout Craig a few weeks ago."

"Maybe they found something that's pointing them back towards him," Bebe said hopefully.

Token shook his head, "Maybe. But I wouldn't be overly hopeful considering Kenny still has cops breathing down his neck," he gestured out towards the parked car across the street.

Ken licked over his lips and nodded slowly, pushing down the dreams of grandeur trying to infiltrate his worry. Any ounce of hope he'd had so far had been struck down. He couldn't let himself fall into the false promise of Kyle being saved by _competent_ police. So far, even if it _was_ the only cop who trusted him, Ken couldn't exactly say he returned the favor. He set his lips, looking around at the group firmly. "Token is right," he said. "So," he picked up his tablet and waved it around. "Who else has an idea?"

* * *

He couldn't seem to take his eyes off the water beginning to slowly come to a simmer atop the stove. Green followed trails of steam as they rose to gently brush under and around the vent above it, collecting around it in a graceful dance, pure and untouched. Kyle took a deep breath, aching fingers clutched around the oven door's handle.

His ears perked as the clear sound of Craig's methodical steps edged closer to him from his side of the kitchen, jerking as arms slid around his waist and pulled him back against a broad chest. "Having fun?" Craig taunted.

Kyle grunted, feebly trying to move away, hissing as Craig tugged him in tighter and rested his chin in his curls. Kyle's fingers clenched tighter around the door handle, closing his eyes to the feeling of Craig smelling his hair, moving down and putting his nose into his neck. "You see how nice it can be?" Craig murmured, lightly biting his shoulder.

"This isn't nice," Kyle whispered. "This is _Hell_."

Craig rolled his eyes, "Don't be dramatic."

"How is that not accurate?" he bit, eyes opening and sliding onto him sharply. "You're _torturing_ me."

"I'm being _kind_ to you," he corrected, a hand sliding up his waist and torso, gently wrapping around his throat. "I _can_ torture you if that's what you want," he said dryly. He squeezed the Jew's neck tighter, forcing him to tip his head back. "I can literally keep you tied up on the bed and just come stick my fucking cock in you when I want."

Kyle bristled, coughing lightly at the hand clasped around him. "You already _do_ ," he hissed.

Craig chuckled, "No, look at you. You're up and moving. Your arms are free. I don't have you just bent over with your legs spread just _waiting_ ," he sneered, biting his ear. "If you _want_ that, it can be arranged. I have no arguments," he smirked. Kyle was silent as he kissed his cheek, the hand on his throat traveling back down and groping his ass as the noirette chuckled. "Seems to me like you wouldn't mind that too much. You don't seem to wanna fight," he teased, backing off and walking to the fridge.

Sharp eyes followed, him, fingers silently trailing up and turning off the gas burner. He watched Craig fumbling around, grabbing a beer bottle from the icebox and closing the door. He gritted his teeth, grabbing the saucepan's handle and wailing it towards him. Craig's eye caught the movement, hopping out of the warpath. He screamed out as some of the water splashed onto his left hand still trailing behind the rest of him from being hooked around the fridge handle. His bottle dropped to the ground and shattered, the boy clutching his scalded, red hand against him protectively.

He hissed through his teeth, looking up to see Kyle staring at him in a mar of absolute terror and rage for the same reason: He _missed_. The redhead backed up against the counter, jaw trembling at Craig's anger beginning to overpower the room.

"You little _fuck_ ," he spat, reaching down and grabbing the saucepan from the ground. Kyle yelped, trying to run out of the way and get to the knife block before a burnt hand grabbed his arm and yanked him back forward. He barely caught sight of the pot careening towards his head, the metal reverberating off his skull with a deafening clang. The pain was instantaneous, escaping just as quickly as his body made itself shut down. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed onto the floor, Craig's weakened hand happily letting him fall into an unconscious heap.

Craig stood over him, fingers clenched tightly around the handle, gray eyes _blazing_.

He looked to see Lila making way towards the water and beer. "NO," he barked, the dog backing up nervously. He took a shaking breath, grabbing a kitchen towel and tossing it onto the steaming, glassed mess. He ripped Kyle's leash key out of his pocket, kneeling down and undoing the lock. With a strong grip around Kyle's wrist, he began to drag him towards the kitchen door, easily undoing the flurry of locks, adrenaline and anger distracting him from the searing nerves of his reddened fingers. He let Lila fly out in front of him as the door came open, tightening his hold on the bony wrist and dragging the unconscious redhead outside. He kept his upper half up enough to not let the step of the stoop slam his head down again, hauling him through the snow towards the barn.

Lila happily bounded around them in the snow before running off to sniff at broken twigs as Craig undid his barn locks and threw the door open. He continued lugging a now-groaning Kyle over the concrete, bending down and grabbing him around the waist, shoving him violently into his cage. He shook his head as he reattached the padlock, growling under his breath.

Kyle's consciousness fluttered back towards him with the metallic sounds, creaking his aching eyes open to see Craig on the other side of the bars staring him down maliciously. " _Bad_ ," he hissed. Kyle silently gazed back at him, his pounding head giving up and falling back onto the thin blankets underneath of him. Craig shook his head again, "You're staying out here until you _learn_ to appreciate what I do for you," he snapped.

The words barely breeched the threshold of Kyle's throbbing skull, unable to keep a lick of focus. Craig scoffed, getting to his feet and cradling his hand once more as he stomped his way out of the barn. Kyle stared with hazed, blank eyes past the bars of his cage to the wall, unable to comprehend his current positioning. All he heard was the slamming of the barn door, and Craig's furious, vengeful shouts from outside. All he could feel was insurmountable pain, and an expression he couldn't quite understand of failure and utter hopelessness.


	33. Chapter 33

His only indicator of time was the angle of light beaming through the skylight, slithering across the ground millimeters at a time. He let a long breath escape his lips, cuddling in tighter with his blanket as the air visibly streamed out. Kyle whimpered, another rush of dizziness slamming into him out of left field. He curled tighter into his ball, eyes lazily trying to focus on individual panels of wood. The redhead let out a hiss, cringing into himself as the left side of his head continued to throb.

He didn't know what to do. He'd fucked up _again_. And he had a feeling that Craig wasn't going to be so willing to let him back in the house with forced 'good behavior'. He pulled the blanket over his head, trying to let his breath rebound off the fabric back onto his face for heat. It wasn't working all that well, but it was as close as he was probably going to get to any kind of comfort.

An array of clanging ensued and he groaned to himself, trying to shrink down into nothingness. The barn door opened and he sniffled, hearing footsteps approaching him slowly. "Get up," Craig's voice ordered.

Kyle took a collecting breath, poking his miserable eyes up out of his nest, blearily focusing on the noirette. Craig let out a 'hmph', kneeling down beside the cage and glaring at him. "I brought you coffee," he muttered. "Can't have you fucking dying while I'm at work."

The redhead stayed silent, blinking at him slowly. He couldn't seem to find his rage, still too caught up in the ebbing of his wavering health to do much more than watch him with wide, scared eyes.

Craig muttered under his breath, unlocking the heavy padlock and opening the cage a touch. "Hold out your arms," he ordered. The need to argue rose and quickly died off, Kyle's head pounding too much to do anything but quietly comply. Craig grabbed his wrists as they passed the bars, quickly zip tying them and sighing through his nose. Kyle silently watched himself being restrained, nothing more than a wince breaking through as the ties roughly bit into his dried wounds. His gaze drifted to Craig's bandaged hand, the failure flaring within him once again. He looked at the bottom of his cage and sighed, body slumping defeatedly.

Craig watched him as he worked, noting the large bruise spawning from under his curls, color dripping down past his temple. He frowned. "Are you dizzy?" he asked. Kyle nodded softly and he rolled his eyes. Great. Probably a concussion. But he was conscious, so at least there was that. "You know why you're out here, right?" Another nod. He scowled. "Then _tell_ me why you are."

Muddled spring green rose to meet his stare, the grasp on his ensnared wrists still tight. He gulped. "I threw the pot," he whispered.

"You _know_ that's not what I want to hear," he sneered, squeezing tight enough for Kyle to feel his bones creaking under his hand.

"I was...I..." he looked down, yelping as Craig shook him and glancing back up. "I was bad," he whispered embarrassedly.

He nodded curtly, "Good." He reached behind him and grabbed a large thermos, pushing it into Kyle's bound hands. "Here. This should stay hot for hours." He put another set of items into his hands. "Here's your insulin, too," he muttered. "Take it because I'm not dealing with you going into a fucking coma." Kyle pulled them into the prison, flinching as Craig slammed the cage shut and re-locked the door.

Kyle blinked, slowly and clumsily working his way onto his knees and watching his captor as he gathered his things. "Are you going to kill me?" he asked quietly, looking at his half-filled insulin bottle and placing it gently at the forefront of his cage.

The noirette looked at him with a raised brow. "What?"

He smacked his dry lips nervously, holding the thermos against him tightly. "Are you going to kill me?" he repeated.

They stared at each other and Craig let out a sigh. "I don't know. When a dog goes rabid, there's not many other options, is there?"

Kyle's eyes widened, gulping and looking down, a tear rolling down his cheek. "Please," he whispered. "Please, let me go home. I...I want Kenny. _Please_."

Craig kicked his cage and the redhead yelped, looking back at him with waterlogged eyes. "You _**are**_ home," he snapped. "The next time you'll see McCormick is when you fucking _die_ , do you understand me?" he bit.

He dropped his head again and tried to stop his sobs, head hurting too much to put through extra stress. Craig watched him as he slowly unraveled, plucking the thread himself genially. He nearly couldn't believe what he was seeing as Kyle broke into pieces, unable to stop himself from sobbing hysterically despite his pounding head. A cruel smirk crept up his lips as he observed Kyle unable to support himself, falling limply into a disjointed puddle of tears. His misery echoed into the barn like dust, acrid and musty, but comforting all the same. Every bruise, every scratch, every sob was _his_. He'd made this masterpiece, he was placing the final notes on his epic melody. The browbeaten, brokenhearted boy locked away from the world was his magnum opus; and he _treasured_ it. The feeling of triumph soaked into the marrow of his bones and he nearly gasped at the sensation invading him almost violently.

He'd done it. He'd fought his way through Kyle's utter defiance, his stubborn hopes of worming out of his situation. The last chord had been struck, and what made Kyle who he was was beginning to fade out with the echo of the final pitch.

 _He had him_.

"There there," he mocked, watching with a grin as Kyle shook his head at his voice, crying still as he backed into the far corner of his cage, unable to so much as look at him. "Learn to stay like this, and you'll be much happier," he said smugly, turning on his heel and walking towards the door. "I'll see you after work," he called cheerily. "Have a good day, Broflovski." He slammed the door shut, Kyle hearing the locks being set back into place, what was now his _home_ being secured once more.

He looked up at the skylight, chest heaving and long, heavy gasps leaving his mouth stained with salty tears. "Help me," he prayed against the morning light. "Please. _Help me_..." he trailed off, looking back down at the thermos still clutched possessively in his cold fingers. He leaned against the cool bars beside him, looking off listlessly at the floor and sniffling. Slowly his eyes slipped shut, burning behind his lids. _'Kenny, please. Get me out._ _ **Please**_."

His ears perked at the sound of Craig's pickup's engine firing, biting his swollen lip gently. Kyle's shoulders slumped further, body curling into itself to retain heat. Nearly every ounce of who he was was slipping through his frozen fingers, his hopes dwindling into near nothingness aside from one element; The one element he'd always counted on, that'd _never_ let him down. He gulped, seeing that loving smile that Kenny had given him when they'd last seen each other, feeling a small warmth rebuilding in his chest. Craig had him where he _thought_ he wanted him, but, he'd forgotten something very important, Kyle's universal truth: Kyle's place had _always_ belonged with Kenny, and neither one of them was about to let anything change that.

* * *

The blonde's teeth bore down into his knuckle, blue eyes scanning over the beige carpet listlessly. He heard the front door open and close, never glancing over but shooting a half-hearted wave. Stan watched him for a moment before dropping his work bag and sighing, heading over to sit beside him on the couch. "Have you eaten?" he asked.

Kenny blinked out of his trance and looked at him, shaking his head.

Stan gave him an unamused look, getting to his feet and grabbing Kenny's arm to haul him up beside him. "You need to stop doing that," he lectured, dragging him into the kitchen and pushing him down into a chair, grabbing a bag of popcorn from the cabinet and throwing it into the microwave. He turned, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. "Ken, you need to take care of yourself, Dude."

The blonde pouted, laying his head on the kitchen table and sighing. "I know. But Kyle-"

"Would be saying the same goddamn thing," he rolled his eyes. He paused at the dejected expression crossing his friend's face and sighed quietly, gaze drifting to the popping bag behind him. "Ken, we're gonna find him," he promised.

He nodded, leaning up and scratching at his hair. "Whaddya think he's thinking?" he murmured.

Stan cocked his head slightly, "Whaddya mean?"

"I mean...do you think he's angry with me?" he questioned softly.

Stan's face dropped, walking himself over to sit beside him. He folded his hands and looked at his hollow expression pitiably. "No, I don't," he said. "Ken, you know he wouldn't blame you, not for one goddamn second."

He bit his lip, eyes locked on the oaken lining of the table. "Okay, but _I'm_ the one who let that fuck get close to him, Stan."

"It's not like you _knew_ what was up," he reminded him. "Besides, Ky told me that you were _fine_ with him not wanting to be around him. He made the choice to let Craig in. Not you."

"Doesn't make me feel better, Stan," he said miserably, tracing his finger listlessly along the swirling pattern of the wood. "You know how he is. He wants to be everyone's friend."

Stan snorted, "No, he doesn't."

"Okay, fine, he wants to at least give everyone the benefit of the doubt," he rolled his eyes. "And I let in the _one person_ who would take advantage of it like this."

The noirette stared at him for a few moments, watching the misery eating him alive beyond that waxy skin. "You're not a factor."

"Huh?" Kenny raised his brow.

Stan shrugged, "If what Fatass told us is true, if Craig's been watching Ky like that since _before_ you two were even dating...Then you really mean nothing in it all," he winced. "Craig was going to go after him one way or the other. Honestly, the fact that you two _are_ together is more beneficial than anything else."

"But if we weren't, then Kyle wouldn't have tried so hard to deal with him," he insisted.

He smirked sadly, "Dude. You said it yourself: He tries to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. And...considering how well Craig's managed to avoid suspicion so far, I'm guessing he would've gotten to him regardless." He paused and licked over his lips, tapping his finger on the table in thought as the microwave beeped behind him. "But think about it: Craig bothering him wouldn't have been a topic of conversation if you two weren't together," he reminded him. "The fact that he talked to you and it gave him that giant friggin' inner crisis that I caught onto, too and discussed with him, then we _never_ would've known who took him." Kenny blinked at him, looking back at the table blankly. "Ken, you being involved is what's going to _save_ him, not what got him into trouble to begin with," he said softly.

"I just wish I could save him faster," he murmured guiltily. "God, I can't even _imagine_ what he's going through..."

"Probably best not to think about it," Stan inputted quietly. "I know it's almost impossible, but those questions can come when we get him out of that maniac's fucking barn and back home," he frowned.

Kenny nodded softly and Stan patted his shoulder, getting up to grab the popcorn out of the microwave. He gently pried the seams apart, tossing it between them on the table and grabbing a handful, placing it in front of the blonde. Ken sighed, putting a kernel between his lips and shaking his head. "This sucks, Stan."

"That's putting it pretty mildly."

"Trust me, I know," he rolled his eyes, crunching away softly and sniffling. "I just want to-" he stopped, jerking as his hip began to vibrate. He yanked his phone out of his pocket, raising his brow at the unrecognized number on his screen. He slid it open and held it to his ear, "Hello?"

" _Kenny? Ken, it's Butters."_

The blonde sighed silently, eyelids drooping.. This was the last thing he needed. He placed the phone on speaker and set it on the table, continuing to shovel popcorn into his mouth. "What is it, Stotch?"

Butters cleared his throat nervously, _"Well...well, it's about Craig. I saw somethin' that I thought you should know."_

The two at the table stopped short with their eating, glancing at each other with wide eyes before looking back at the phone. "What is it, Butters?" Stan demanded.

" _Hey, Stan!'_ he greeted. _"Anyways, Craig had some weird markin's on 'im."_

"Markings?" Kenny repeated suspiciously.

He coughed softly and they could hear him nodding. _"Well, I mean, wounds."_ he corrected. _"He had himself a big ol' shiner. And...and his hand was burned somethin' bad. He told us he fell onto his table and knocked coffee onto his hand but...but it just didn't seem right, ya know?"_

"Oh my god," Kenny whispered. "He's alive."

" _He left 'bout five minutes ago, I called ya as soon as I knew he wouldn't be here."_

Stan blinked, nodding towards the phone. "Butters, thanks, Dude."

" _It ain't nothin'. Hope that helps ya somehow,"_ he said awkwardly. _"I gotta go. I'll let ya know how it goes with the police tonight."_

"Thanks, Butters," Kenny said, robotically reaching up and hanging up the phone, looking back at Stan and taking a shuddery breath. "He's _alive_ ," he repeated.

Stan nodded, "Right. Way too coincidental for Craig to get hurt like that."

"Especially when Kyle _always_ goes for the black eye," he said firmly, narrowing his sight down towards the table. "But if Kyle did that to Craig..."

"Then what did Craig do to _him_?" Stan finished softly.

Kenny growled under his breath, looking back behind him out the window at the police still stationed outside. "I don't know, but I'm not waiting anymore to find out." He grabbed his phone, beginning to scroll through his numbers as Stan watched confusedly.

"What're you doing?"

"I'm calling the guys," he answered, looking at him with a sharp slice of ice that Stan could feel racking through his core. "We're getting Kyle _out_."


	34. Chapter 34

Kenny sat with his back facing the window, tapping his finger impatiently. "How're we doing?" he murmured.

Stan glanced out the glass from the side of the room and nodded subtly. "Sun's down."

"All right," he looked around the room at the five sitting on the couch. "Everyone ready?"

Tweek bit his lip, "What if they catch you?"

"Catch me doing what?" he asked innocently. "I'm just riding comfortably in my friend's van and we're going to J-Mart. Got a wicked craving for some barbeque chips, that's all," he shrugged nonchalantly.

Wendy smirked and shook her head from the arm of the couch. "I'm sure it'll be fine, Tweek," she assured the jittery blonde. "So long as you let _us_ handle the talking," she raised her brow.

His eye twitched and he nodded sharply. "Fine by me. I don't want to deal with this," he waved his hands in front of his face. "I don't wanna be the one to get Kyle killed!"

Clyde rolled his eyes and flicked his arm. "Dude, seriously, _stop that_ ," he sighed irritably. He looked at Kenny and bit his lip, "So. Now?"

Ken nodded curtly, "Now." He looked at Bebe, Wendy, Token, and Tweek and cocked his brow. "You guys sure you're okay with this?"

Bebe scoffed, "Kenny, Babe, I _think_ we can handle a little acting. Been pretending for years I'm not jealous of you getting Kyle's ass, haven't I?" she teased.

"Hey," Token pouted. She chuckled and kissed his cheek lightly.

Stan rolled his eyes amusedly, "All right, go out the back," he said. He kissed Wendy briskly and sighed against her. "Please don't go liberal on 'em, Wends. I can't afford to bail you out again," he pleaded. She tried to look at him in indignation before breaking into quiet laughter and nodding, kissing him back.

"Might work to our benefit," she winked. She shot Kenny a reassuring smile before turning and heading out towards the back door behind the other three.

Kenny got to his feet and stretched, turning himself slightly towards the window and faking a yawn. He and Stan shared a brief glimpse and the blonde shoved his hands in his pockets, going into the guest room and shutting the door. He licked his lips, heading towards his window in the dark and prying it open in the slightest, standing beside the pane and crossing his arms, tapping his foot against the carpet impatiently.

He watched the digital clock on the nightstand, observing the minutes ticking by before a pair of high pitched screams broke from down the street. He grinned, shaking his head at Wendy and Bebe pulling off their 'terrified damsel' selves beautifully. A few more beats of their screeching passed before a quick two raps came on his door and he took a collecting breath. He pried the window further up, swinging his leg out and sliding out of the room, lithe as a cat. He resealed the pane and ducked down, quickly scurrying towards the front of the house. Sharp blue eyes scanned, smirking at the cop car removed from its post. Clyde's van's trunk opened in the slightest from the driveway, a hand beckoning him over. He slithered over, keeping himself low and heading over to the open door. It slid open just enough to push himself up through the gap, Cartman reaching down and yanking him into the vehicle, shutting the trunk firmly.

"Go!" Kenny hissed, Clyde quickly putting the car into gear and whipping out of Stan's driveway. "Stop by my house," he ordered.

Stan kept his head forward from the passenger seat, blinking confusedly. "What? Dude, the longer we're out the longer-"

"The girls and Token and Tweek will keep them occupied," Ken snapped. "I need to get something." He and Cartman grabbed onto the loading bars beside them, trying to keep themselves steady as Clyde made a sharp turn onto Kenny and Kyle's street.

Clyde gulped, eyes flickering around nervously. "Does this make us accomplices?" he asked.

Kenny growled, "If we save Kyle, it makes you fucking _heroes_. Just get us there, Clyde." The brunette shied down and nodded, picking up the speed and zooming down towards the emptied house, he and Stan keeping an eye out for any stray cops. "Stan, do you have your spare key? The cops took mine," Kenny murmured. The noirette reached into his pocket and snagged his key ring, tossing it back behind the seats. Kenny slapped his hand on them as soon as they touched the carpet, looking at the array and squinting in the dark.

"It's the one with the 'K' on it, you retard," Cartman rolled his eyes.

"Shut up, I'm a little on edge," he hissed. The car came to a stop and he licked over his lips.

Stan cleared his throat, "Do you want _me_ to go in?"

"No. Am I clear?"

"Yeah, hurry. I'll text you if someone comes by," Stan muttered.

Kenny quickly hit the latch of the trunk and slid out, hurrying towards his front door. His fingers were shaking as he fumbled to get the key into the lock, eyes darting back and forth as he shoved open the door and hurried inside, closing it behind him and flipping on his phone's flashlight. His heart lurched as his eyes hit Kyle's book still there on the end table, shaking himself out of it and hurrying towards the garage. He stepped in and flickered on the lights, glancing to the far side wooden cabinet and growling determinedly. He ran over and reached under the elevated bottom, tracing his fingers along and finding his key resting on the underside and ripping it from its place, shaking his head.

He hated to do this. He hated to become his father and go against everything Kyle stood for...But he had a feeling the redhead wouldn't mind too much this time around.

Kenny tore open the unit, licking his lips and grabbing the worn gray case from the confines. He nodded and turned on his heel, hurrying back out the garage door and stealthily working his way through the house, stopping by the front window and glancing out suspiciously. He bit his lip, opening the front door and re-locking it out of pure habit before briskly making his way back to the van. He slipped back into the trunk and Clyde took off once more down the road, trying to make up for lost time and separation from the cops.

"The fuck, you needed your fucking business case?" Cartman rolled his eyes.

He looked at him sharply, "You could say that," he drawled. He ripped open the case, working in the low lighting the moon provided as it gleamed off his handed down disassembled Stoeger Coach.

The brunette blinked, "You're gonna blow Tucker's head off?"

"Ken, you got your _gun_?" Stan hissed.

The blonde scoffed, taking out his pieces and assembling the double-barrel, thumb stroking over the familiar metal fondly. "If I find Kyle, no matter _what_ condition he's in..." He paused, tearing open a case of ammo and sliding two shells into the chambers, snapping the gun back into place and biting his lip angrily. "Then Tucker is going to be _begging_ for me to shoot him when I'm done with him."

* * *

Murphy's eyes watched the footage playing on the small computer display, sharply scanning for anything out of place. He sighed, looking at Butters' pulled up records of Craig's order. He twisted his lips slightly, switching the old feed as Craig walked from the back room with Butters with his materials in his cart. He kept watching the two of them, flipping through footage until landing on the cash register's feed, seeing Butters handing Craig four large coins. He narrowed his eyes as he watched Craig turning on his heel and walking out of the camera view.

"Stop moving, Tucker," he murmured, flipping through once more until landing on the noirette standing at the tag machine in the front door's camera view. Murphy sighed, leaning back and crossing his arms as he watched him typing out a name and pausing, waiting for the tag to be created. He smacked his lips, taking a sip of his coffee and shaking his head. This hadn't pulled up _anything_ in the nine hour shift Craig had worked that day. He bit his lip. Everything was up to par with the stories he'd been told.

He watched as Craig began work on his second tag, raising his brow a bit as his trained eye caught a minute difference. Something seemed _off_. Another four letter name was typed, the action just seeming out of place. Two collars equaled two tags...but something here didn't seem right. Murphy put his coffee down, quickly rewinding the footage to the first tag, grabbing a pencil and following Craig's finger movement. He fast forwarded through the tag creation, hitting the second one and repeating his mimicry. He narrowed his eyes. The pattern seemed different.

He looked to the computer screen beside him, seeing Butters in the live feed straightening up the front registers. He grabbed the office phone, hitting the page button. "Mr. Stotch?" he watched as Butters looked up towards the ceiling. "Mr. Stotch, I need you to do something for me," he directed. "Get a piece of paper and a pen." He observed as Butters printed out a strip of register tape and tore it out of its hold, the distant footage barely showcasing his utter confusion as he grabbed a cashier's pen. "Now, I need you to go to the tag machine and set it up to where you're at the labeling section."

Butters looked around in bewilderment before nodding and grabbing a couple of tokens, Murphy following him with the feed as he made way to the machine. The officer rewound Craig's footage to his first button pushing, moving papers aside and shoving the security computer over to beside the other monitor to line up. He bit his thumbnail, watching as Butters stopped and looked around for further instruction.

"All right," he continued into the phone. "I'm going to need you to listen carefully. Move your fingers along the buttons. When I say stop, you write down whatever button you're on top of, do you understand?" Butters finally caught on, looking up into the camera and giving him a cheerful thumbs up.

Murphy nodded, "All right. Let's start."

* * *

Craig frowned, juggling the items in his hands as he clumsily undid the barn locks and pushed open the door, looking to see Kyle still huddled in his nest. He smirked as those green eyes flickered up to him in the dim moonlight, glistening like diamonds.

He smacked his lips nonchalantly and headed over, kneeling down in front of the containment. "Are you cold?" he asked. Kyle nodded softly and he shrugged. "Well, my hand fucking isn't, so take warmth in that fact," he waved his scalded hand in front of him, watching the despondency settling over his tired, paled face. He shook his head and sighed irritably. "I'm willing to let you back in the house, maybe even not chained up...for a price," he raised his brow. Kyle narrowed his eyes slightly, straightening up all he could and staring at him head on. Craig let a few beats of silence pass before he shrugged. "You come back into the house, and behave in bed, then-"

"No," Kyle cut him off sharply, glaring daggers at him through the resounding dizziness.

He shrugged again dismissively, "Well, I had to offer. Letting you freeze to death out here is fine with me." He reached behind him and grabbed his items, unlocking the cage. "Back up," he ordered. Kyle frowned, but did as told, slowly scooching himself into his corner. Craig opened the door enough to grab Kyle's insulin and empty thermos to replace it with another, throwing a bag of spinach in with it. "Bought it after work just for you," he taunted, redoing the lock, tugging on it a few times to test it. He looked at the bound redhead and twisted his lips. "You _need_ to behave."

" _You_ need to _die_ ," Kyle spat back venomously.

"Is _that_ what you were trying to do?" Craig smirked, re-brandishing his wounded hand. "Because even if you hit me, I _don't_ think I would've died."

He scoffed, reaching forward and grabbing his dinner defiantly before Craig tried to give him 'permission', matching the anger in his eyes point for point. "If it'd hit you where I wanted it to...you would've gone down," he whispered tiredly. "And I would've fucking stabbed you to death when you were on the floor with your skin half gone."

Craig growled and Kyle held back a flinch, bruised eyes focused on his captor, but his talking exhausting the hell out of him. "And that's why you're in your cage," he said lowly.

"I'm in _the_ cage because you're insane," he countered. "If you're going to kill me, just fucking _do it_. Because I'm _not_ going to be your next fucking dog," he gestured back towards the house where Lila sat patiently waiting for Craig's return.

Craig shook his head. "Maybe I will. We'll see how much I still want to break your neck in the morning." He got up and walked towards the door. "Or maybe you'll get lucky and the cold will get you. Pleasant fucking dreams," he bit, slamming the door behind him and refastening it.

Kyle sighed, leaning his head back and staring up confusedly. He didn't want to die. Why was he _taunting_ Craig with the notion? He hissed, bringing his bound hands up and cupping the side of his head. The persistent throb was starting to get to him, absolutely _sick_ of being in constant agony from one thing or the other. He glanced down, seeing his bruised and scarred arms, biting his lip. Maybe he was losing his mind. Maybe the fear was just pushing out every bit of rhyme and reason that Kyle had always thrived on. Or maybe, just _maybe_...A part of him was giving up. He was cold, tired, hurt, and scared. Craig had picked him apart bit by bit in the last three weeks. He never had a break from the absolute terror, the pain, the knowledge of what was waiting for him right around the corner at every possible moment.

He slowly tore open the bag of greens, taking a leaf and quietly nibbling at it with a heavy sigh breaking through his nose. Everything here was against him. Every odd was far out of his favor. Kyle was the house of cards to Craig's vicious gusts of violence, and he had a marking for every time that he'd been toppled.

His fingers reached down, trailing over his collar and hitting the collar of his t-shirt. He grimaced, pulling the fabric down, looking at the various teeth marks and hickeys littering his skin. These weren't marks that he could showcase snobbishly like the ones Kenny gave him, ones that he wore as a symbol of being in love and hopelessly addicted to it, the ones that told the world that Kenny claimed him and he was happy to oblige. These ones? They were disfigurements. They were everything _evil_ in the world brandished on him as Craig's own exhibit. His claim spawned from deep seated hate and mismatched feelings towards the redhead, things that Kyle couldn't wrap his weary brain around, couldn't believe that he'd _missed_ for so many years.

Kyle sniffled, clumsily fumbling with his tied hands to grasp the thermos and pull it against him. His shoulders sank and he looked towards the door of the barn, wanting nothing more than to set the monstrosity ablaze and leave this all behind him, Craig's charred corpse smoldering away with Kyle's misery.

* * *

Clyde pulled the van into the woods between two large evergreens, wincing at the twigs scratching at the sides. "Shit, Dude, my car."

"Clyde, it's a fucking soccer mom car, all right?" Cartman rolled his eyes. "It isn't anything valuable."

"Fuck y-"

"Shut the fuck up, both of you," Kenny snapped. "Come on," he jerked his head and opened the trunk door, himself and Cartman hopping out onto the ground. Kenny reached back in and grabbed a handful of shells, shoving them into his pocket with a grimace. Clyde and Stan joined them at the back, the four of them looking up the long stretch of hill. "We're going in through the woods," Kenny murmured.

"Why?" Clyde blinked, not looking forward to the half-mile trek.

He looked at him sharply, "Because his fucking dog will see us otherwise. Let's go," he directed, placing his gun's strap over his shoulder and slinging it across his back, hand rested on the stock for quick removal. He stared up the stretch to the soft glow of the house, taking a long breath through his nose in the cold night air. He glanced up at the moon beaming with clarity and encompassing the world in its ghastly light, beckoning him onward. His eyes fell back, narrowing determinedly, _'I'm comin', Ky.'_


	35. Chapter 35

Kenny peeked around a tree, looking and listening for the sound of Lila's tag jingling in the open pasture. He took a shaking breath of relief at the resounding silence, glancing at the barn in front of him. "Okay, let's move," he whispered, leading the other three on a silent trek to the building. They put themselves against the wall, Kenny looking up at the roof and licking over his lips. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but there's rafters under the skylight, right?"

Stan's eyes widened at the connotation and he looked at him in shock. "Ken, this isn't fucking Mission: Impossible!" he hissed.

He returned the glare, "Well I can't exactly unlock the fucking door, Stan. Now, answer me."

Clyde nodded, "Yeah. There's a ton of 'em. But Ken-"

"No buts," he cut him off. "All right, Clyde and Cartman, you're gonna throw me up a bit and I'll grab onto the roof," he pointed upwards. "Then you lift Stan and he pushes me up the rest of the way."

"Why do _we_ have to do the lifting?" Cartman scowled.

He looked at him angrily, making sure his gun was secure on his back, "Because Stan's lighter than either of you, and you _all_ know I'm the lightest. Now shut up and do it!" Clyde and Cartman looked at each other and sighed tiredly, legs worn from their trek to Craig's house. They both knelt down, cupping their hands for Kenny to step onto. They winced, lifting up as Stan spotted and kept Kenny's balance forward.

"One, two, three!" Clyde counted, the both of them bending down and bringing Kenny up, propelling him a good three feet into the air. Kenny reached his arms up, wincing as he snagged the trimming of the roof, cursing as he smacked his face against the wall.

"Hurry up!" he hissed, fingers already aching.

"Don't drop me," Stan muttered, stepping into their hands and leaning forward to catch the wall as they lifted him. He came under Kenny's feet, grabbing his shoes and pushing him upwards, gritting his teeth as the blonde struggled to clamber up the rest of the way. Ken let out a groan as he rolled onto the roof, taking a moment to pant and look down to see Stan being gently placed back on the ground.

"Keep an eye out, text me or something if he comes out," Kenny said. "Hide in the woods," he directed, the three of them nodding and backing off into the trees once more. Kenny turned and narrowed his eyes, seeing the gleam of the skylight reflecting off the moon, thanking all the gods he could think of that it wasn't in direct view of the house. He began carefully meandering his way over the chilled asphalt, pressing through snow and sliding his hands through to check for ice. He bit his lip nervously as he edged over, peering down through the window. He squinted, not able to see behind the numerous rafters and sighing irritably.

He brushed off a dusting of snow from the covering, finding a rusted lock. Grabbing a hold of it and gritting his teeth, he struggled to work the damn latch off millimeter by millimeter. He cursed sharply as it broke free, sending his hand flying back and forcing him to regain his balance on the fly. Kenny gulped and slowly caught his breath, grabbing under the window's ledge and prying it upwards, hit with the stench of hay and shaking himself off. He perked his ears for any sign of Craig, hearing nothing and turning himself, gently placing his foot on one of the large rafters, lowering his body down onto it and looking around.

"Kyle?" he called softly. "Ky? You in here?" Green eyes fluttered open from their rest at the sound, narrowing confusedly as he let his head slide from his blanket. Again, "Kyle? Babe?"

His heart leapt at the familiarity of the affectionate name and tone, sitting up in his cage and looking around frantically. "Kenny?" he asked, voice cracking.

Ken gasped to himself, that familiar voice reigniting his energy. He started hurrying to move his way down the rafters, genially dropping from one to the next. He had to be careful, to not get overeager and end up falling and breaking his damn neck. He bit his lip. "I'm comin', Ky," he assured him worriedly, continuing to work his way down. "I'm comin'."

Kyle was beside himself, grateful tears welling in his eyes as he caught Kenny's shadow in the low lighting working his way down towards him. He bit his lip and smiled to himself. He knew Kenny would get him out. He _knew_ he wouldn't let him down.

Kenny found himself on a low lying rafter above the hay loft and licked his lips, hopping down and landing in the straw with a soft thud. He quickly made way to the ladder, scurrying down and running to the front of the barn. He looked down to see Kyle's beaten face in the glowing lantern light behind bars, letting out a dismayed cry. "Jesus Christ, Kyle," he whimpered, diving down in front of him.

"Kenny, get me out of here," he pleaded, bringing up his bound hands and linking his fingers through the metal.

"I will, I will," he assured him, kissing his fingers frantically. He found the padlock and gritted his teeth, grabbing his phone out of his pocket and quickly pushing Stan's name, holding it to his ear with his shoulder as he tried to pry off the damnable thing.

" _Ken? You find him?!"_

"He's in here, Stan," Kenny said sharply. "He's locked in the cage. Get the cops."

" _Right_." he hung up and Ken dropped his phone, continuing to try to rip off the fucking latch.

"Goddammit," he hissed. Kyle watched him helplessly, jaw trembling as he was overwhelmed with emotion and a paranoia of Craig breaking through their reunion. Kenny grunted, changing tactics and grabbing the side of the cage, getting onto his feet and extending his knees, trying to separate the metal.

"It's welded," Kyle said softly.

Kenny looked at him through his straining, "Huh?"

"He welded it, and it's bolted to the ground, you can't get it apart," he elaborated quietly. Kenny dropped to his knees beside him and stared guiltily.

"What should I do then?"

He shrugged, huddling tighter in his blanket. "Wait for the police I guess," he murmured.

"Kyle," he said with a cracking voice, reaching over and grasping his chilled fingers. He leaned his forehead against the cage, Kyle matching him and the two of them relishing in the closeness, separated as it was. "I'm so sorry, I'm _so_ sorry," Kenny whispered.

Kyle shook his head, "Not your fault. Craig...he's fucking _crazy_ ," he said shakily.

"I tried so _hard_ to get to you but-"

"I know," he cut him off, wrapping his fingers as well as he could around Kenny's. "I saw a newscast. I know what was happening," he looked at him exhaustively, relishing in those blue eyes beaming into his once again. Kenny's heart dropped, seeing the hollow echo penetrating Kyle's own stare. "Thank you," the redhead whispered.

Ken shook his head, "Don't thank me, you're not out yet."

He smiled weakly, "Trust me...right now...This is good enough."

Kenny backed up just a bit, looking at the bruises and cuts over his boyfriend's face, the absolute disaster of wounds circulating his thin wrists, terrified to know what else was lurking beneath the blanket. He pressed his lips against his forehead through the metal, Kyle's body instantly relaxing with the contact. "I'm gonna kill him," he murmured.

"I won't stop you," he assured him tiredly. "I was so close," he hissed angrily at himself, ducking down defeatedly. "But...I missed. So he threw me back in here."

The blonde took a deep breath, kissing him again. "I'm just glad he didn't kill _you_ ," he sniffled softly.

"He doesn't want me dead, despite what he'd say," he muttered. He backed up and looked at him with glassy eyes. Another wave of dizziness slammed into him and he groaned, weakly leaning against the bars once more as Kenny watched in panic.

"Kyle?! What's wrong?!" he asked hurriedly.

He gulped, mouth hanging open as he panted and tried to collect himself. "He hit me in the head...with a pot..." he said meekly. "I...I think it's a concussion...I don't know, he's done so much..." he said, voice cracking and a sob sneaking through. "I hurt so much, Kenny," he whimpered.

His heart lurched, tears welling in his own eyes. "I'm here, Kyle, I'm here," he assured him. "I'm gonna get you to a hospital, and take you home, and _never_ leave you alone again. I'll take care of you, I promise." Kyle just nodded, still choking out pained sobs and keeping his fingers latched tightly around Kenny's, unwilling to let go for fear of this all being a dream, and the blonde possibly fading away without the contact. Kenny gulped, huddling against the cage against him all he could. "I'll make you better," he promised. "I'll make you french onion soup and coffee and I'll read to you," he said, stroking over his fingers. "We'll watch movies and I'll play with your hair. We'll lay in bed and...and we'll just talk about nothing and cuddle and do whatever you want, okay?"

Kyle's lips curled into a twitching smile at the promise, nestling further against him and just praying for it all to come to fruition as soon as possible.

The dream seemed short lived as a familiar clattering sound arose from outside, his mouth dropping. "It's Craig," he whimpered. "Ken, hide or some-"

"No," he said sharply, grabbing his shotgun from off his back and turning off the safety, moving himself to the front of the cage and kneeling down to block him. "Keep your ears covered best you can," he advised, resting the stock against his shoulder and training his barrel down at the door.

Kyle bit his lip, awkwardly moving his shoulder up and pressing an ear down against it, watching with wide eyes as the door flew open, three figures standing in the light. Kenny narrowed his gaze and lowered his gun in the slightest, flinching as the middle figure fell onto his knees. Their eyes adjusted, seeing Stan, Cartman, and Clyde on the ground looking at the two of them in fear, a daunting figure lurking behind them with their own gun poised.

"Get in there," Craig said calmly, pushing against Stan's skull with the foresight. Stan growled, the three of them slowly making their way into the barn as Craig looked up and locked eyes with Kenny's furious gaze, smirking smugly. "It's about damn time, McCormick."

* * *

Murphy sighed, watching between Butters and the screen for the last button and shaking his head. They'd been at this for twenty minutes, the concept much harder than he was intending on it being. "Okay..." he said into the pager. "And...stop," he said, watching Butters jot down the last figure onto his paper and look at the camera expectantly. "Head over here," he directed, hanging up the phone and watching Butters begin running towards the office.

He ran a hand through his hair and stood, popping his back and wincing. He glanced at the clock and twisted his lips. He'd been here for nearly an hour and hadn't found shit so far. He sniffed tiredly, walking over and opening the door for Butters to come speeding through.

"H-here ya are, Sir. 'Fraid it don't seem to make much sense, though," he handed him the paper with a frown. Murphy glanced at it and raised his brow. O8OQ, I6O3.

"What the fuck?"

Butters nodded, "Yeah, it didn't seem t' mean nothin'."

"Hm," he raised his brow. "How big are the keys on the screen?"

"'Bout this big," he held up his fingers about the height of a fifty cent piece.

Murphy turned, looking between the keyboard and his paper, grabbing a pen and tapping it against the desk. "Okay, the dog's name is Lila, right?"

"Yessir," he nodded, hopping up and sitting on the desk, watching him curiously.

"So these two O's are probably L's," he tapped the first set, looking at the keyboard. "Okay, if this went right, then we were just a bit off diagonally," he said. "Your hands are probably smaller than Tucker's, right?"

"Well I mean, I can only guess so," he shrugged. "Craig's a big guy."

He nodded, "Right." Murphy turned back, looking at the second set of figures and narrowing his eyes. Following the pattern, I to K, 6 to Y... His heart dropped gulping down dryly. O to L...3 to E.

"Oh shit," he breathed, looking at the name clearly spelled on his paper and taking a shuddery intake of air.

Butters leaned over and blinked at the paper. "What...what's that mean? Why is Kyle's name on there?"

He didn't answer, biting his finger nervously. This was bad. This was _beyond_ circumstantial evidence. But how could he prove it? He wasn't trained in studying video feed, it wasn't as 'in-depth' as usually required. His discovery would be brushed off in _seconds_ as mere wishful thinking, postponed for an 'expert' to examine his findings.

His ear perked at his phone ringing, grabbing and slamming it to his ear, "M-Murphy," he stammered, putting his free hand over his forehead.

" _The hell's wrong with you?"_ Yates' voice appeared.

"Just...thinking, Sir," he gulped. "What's up?"

The sergeant scoffed, _"Toxicology keeps screaming about an urgent message for you, apparently you didn't get their email."_

His eyes widened, "No, there's no internet service where I am."

" _Where are you?"_

"What's the message, Sir?" he blew past it, staring at the wall intensively.

Yates grumbled, shuffling through papers. _"Apparently you sent them two vials of...water_ ," he said flatly. Murphy's jaw dropped as his partner continued, _"You're wasting precious resources on fucking wa-"_

"IT'S TUCKER!" Murphy shouted, running past Butters and out of the office, sprinting towards the doors.

" _What the hell are you talking about?"_ Yates asked, obviously reeling from the outburst.

"Harrison, I sent them medical bottles of midazolam and ketamine that Tucker had a hold of," he explained, hurrying outside to his car and ripping the key out of his pocket. "Sir, it was _him._ He has Broflovski! We need to get there _now!"_

Yates was silent for a moment, _"Are you sure-"_

"YES," he snapped, hopping into his car and speeding out of the parking lot, leaving a very dumbfounded Butters in the doorway of the store. "Either you come with me or not, but I'm getting Broflovski out of there," he snarled, throwing the phone down and picking up the radio speaker. "All units, repeat, _all units,_ " he emphasized, switching on his siren and careening down the street. "I have a code three, suspect of a 207, possibly armed. 10-57 likely at location, need 11-41 to meet. I repeat..." he rambled off codes and details, slamming the radio back onto the dash and grating his lip between his teeth. They'd known all along. They'd known _exactly_ where to go. He shook his head at himself and growled, fingers clenching around his steering wheel. That didn't matter now, what mattered was getting Kyle out of there. He took a shaking breath, just praying that it wasn't too late.


	36. Chapter 36

All eyes were wide, burning as they remained unblinking, each of them afraid to lose their bearings for a fraction of a second. Craig's gaze slid from Kenny's gun trained on him to the cowering redhead in the cage trying to hide behind his dilatory boyfriend.

"All right, so, here's _my_ question:" Craig started with a smirk. "Let's say you got him out of the cage. How were you planning to get him out of the barn?" Kenny was silent and he snorted, "You're pretty shitty at your little rescue operative. Probably why it took you so fucking long to actually _find_ him," he said in an oily tone.

"No, _you_ just fucking put everything in my fucking way," Kenny hissed. "The cops are on the-"

"Nope," he cut him off, lips popping on the word and echoing through the intensity weighing down around them. He poked Stan with his gun, the boy's eye twitching angrily as he was pushed. "Got 'em before they called," he relayed smoothly. "Didn't I, Marsh?"

Stan looked up at the blonde and nodded subtly, Kenny cursing under his breath. "Well _fine_ ," Ken snapped. "I don't need the cops. I'll fucking kill you my fucking self."

"So, are you _missing_ the fact that I have these idiots?" he hitched his brow.

"I can shoot you twice before you can even _cock_ the fucking thing," he hissed.

He shrugged, "You wanna take that risk and watch brains fly all over the fucking barn, be my guest. No one's gonna question me cleaning out the damn barn when I'm keeping my _dog_ in here," he taunted, watching Kenny's eyes bursting with fury. "Though, honestly, you should be _thankful_ that the cops didn't come looking for him," he drawled.

"Tucker, I swear to God, I'll-"

"You know _why_ Lila is such a good dog?" he cut him off smugly. "She can catch a vehicle pulling up the end of the hill night or day," he raised his brow. "Smart parking down there, though, I'll give you that. Were you a cop driving on up, well...it wouldn't have ended well," he shrugged dismissively.

Kenny sneered, "You're fucking _insane_."

Craig rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, Broflovski's been saying that for weeks. But no, I just know what to do in times of crisis." His eyes slid over to Kyle peeking from behind Kenny's shoulder, green alit with fear and worry. "Did you know it takes one minute and 27 seconds to drive up the hill?" he asked casually.

The blonde narrowed his eyes, "What the fuck are you-"

"And did you know that I can get out here and get the door unlocked in 40 seconds?" he continued, smacking his lips in boredom. "That would give me an extra 47 seconds to put a bullet through his fucking head," he jerked his chin towards the redhead, smirking at the boy trembling from his hiding spot.

Kenny growled, pushing himself further against the cage to shield Kyle all he could. "Not smart to say to someone who wants to watch you choke to death on your own blood, you fucker."

"Same could be said to _you_ ," he parried with a raised brow. "Though honestly this is a nice little happenstance," he shrugged, thumb drifting over his ribbed forestock. "Get rid of you assholes and I don't have anyone pointing fingers at me."

He smirked, "Except for Token, Wendy, Bebe, Tweek, and Stotch," he retorted dryly. "They know where we are. You do _anything_ and you're caught regardless."

Craig's face twitched for a moment with anger before relaxing. "Not an issue. I have two options: Either I hide him and move with him stowed away once the cops clear out," he pointed towards Kyle with his gun, "Or, I kill him and go on playing clueless," he shrugged.

"Neither is happening, you crazy motherfucker," he spat defensively, finger resting against his trigger, itching to pull right then and there. "You have a cop that's suspicious of you," he relayed. "May not be the entire force, but it's _someone_ and you're either goin' to jail or in the fuckin' ground."

He rolled his eyes, "Yeah, you've been sayin' I'm goin' to jail, Broflovski's been 'threatening' to kill me. Honestly, you two are broken fucking records since I've proven _both_ of you wrong."

"Craig, stop," Clyde broke through in a plead. "Dude, this isn't like you."

Craig looked at him for a moment and scoffed. "Stay out of it, Clyde."

"Fuck you, you're fucking holding a gun to our heads!" Stan spat. "You fucking nutjob!" He hissed as Craig smacked the barrel against the back of his skull.

"I'd just like it on the record that I didn't _want_ to help the Jew," Cartman piped up.

Kenny glared at him, "Shut the fuck up, Fatboy," he hissed before looking back at Craig's amused, cruel smirk. "Give me the key to the cage and I _won't_ shoot you," he offered lowly. "We'll just sit here until the police come."

"Key?" he repeated, looking up thoughtfully. "Key...Key... _oh_ you mean the one I tossed into the woods after I grabbed these assholes?" he smiled sweetly before it dropped into a scowl. "He's not getting out of here." Kyle bit his lip, putting his fingers through the cage up against Kenny's back, needing the contact to stave him through the madness taking place. "I worked _way_ too long to get a hold of him. If he's leaving, he's leaving a fucking _corpse,_ " he hissed.

"Jesus fucking _Christ_ ," Stan said disgustedly. "You've done _enough_ to him! Knock it the fuck off!"

Craig snorted, "I think we had some fun together, didn't we, Broflovski?" he taunted.

"Fuck you," Kyle whispered, putting his head against the cage and letting Kenny's body heat wash over him. " _Fuck you_."

"I think we covered that plenty," he drawled, stomach twisting in pride at the pure murderous rampage sparking in Kenny's stone-cold stare. Kyle's jaw trembled, looking at the bottom of the cage embarrassedly, breath coming out in short, angry bursts.

He leaned back up looking over Kenny's shoulder and locking in Craig's stare. "You won't kill me," he said lowly.

"At this point I may have to," he smirked.

"But you _won't,_ " he hissed. "You fucking obsessed psychopath!" he spat. "You'd sooner kill _yourself_ than me, and maybe you fucking should!" he shouted.

Kenny nodded, "I won't stop you," he said cooly. "Go ahead and shove the barrel in your mouth and pull the trigger with your fucking toes. It'd be a fun show for all of us."

Craig rolled his eyes, "Not happening. I told you, when a dog is rabid, you put it down, regardless of how much you love it," he paused, grinning at Kenny's angry glare at the declaration. "Besides, when these fucks are gone and if _I'm_ gone, who'll take care of you?" he feigned a small pout. Kyle glared, frustrated tears beading his eyes. He just wanted to go home. He wanted Craig to _drop dead_. This wasn't quite the flawless rescue he'd dreamed about.

All their ears perked at the sound of approaching sirens in the distance, Craig's eyes widening with horror as he glanced back out the open door. Stan and Cartman shared a look, the brunette quickly rolling to the side and Stan jolting up, grabbing the barrel of the gun and pointing it towards Cartman's abandoned position. Craig sneered, kicking Clyde's face as he tried to get up to assist. Kenny raised his own weapon back to his shoulder and moved forward, pivoting and trying to find an angle where Stan wouldn't be caught in the crossfire as the two of them fought over the Winchester.

Craig growled, propelling himself forward and smashing his weight against Stan, throwing him off balance as the sirens picked up their volume, racing towards them. Craig kicked him over, quickly raising his gun to point back towards the two across the way and Kenny grit his teeth as he locked on his target, the barn erupting in a quick succession of three shots.

Craig's gun fell from his hands and clattered onto the dirtied cement, the noirette dropping to his knees and grabbing at his left arm, screaming in agony and rage, blood spurting from underneath his fingers. Stan quickly recovered through the ringing of his ears and snagged the fallen weapon, throwing it off to the side out of Craig's reach.

Stan looked back behind him, jaw dropping at Kenny turned around at the cage, yelling frantically into it. He couldn't pick out words through the deafening echo, pivoting on his foot and quickly running over, diving down beside of him and gasping in horror. Kyle's right shoulder was spilling blood onto the thin blanket beneath him, the redhead shaking violently and struggling to keep his eyes open, unable to hear Kenny and Stan's terrified pleas for him to stay awake.

Dull green slowly slid to between the both of them, seeing Cartman and Clyde holding Craig down and gulping dryly. His body was in an absolute turmoil, the pain insurmountable and each nerve desperately trying to numb him down. A dark fog crept along the corners of his eyes as he raised them with strenuous effort to Kenny's tear-drenched cheeks. The high pitched ringing of his ears simmered down, coming back in to hear Ken's familiar voice rushing over him, blinking lethargically at the frequency shift as the blonde shouted in panic. He opened his mouth, trying to make words but unsure if he was doing so.

Kenny's hearing flooded back onto him, catching Kyle mumbling nonsense towards him and his heart dropping. He heard the stampeding of steps as lights flooded the barn, looking to see police running towards them. "We need an ambulance!" he screamed.

Murphy directed a group to apprehend Craig, who was violently fighting against being held. He ran past and up to the cage, heart dropping at the redhead inside. "Jesus Christ," he murmured. "Do you have the key?" he asked, noting the padlock.

"No," Stan said shakily, trying to stop Kenny from tearing out his hair.

"We need bolt cutters!" Murphy shouted, pointing to a paramedic to send them back out. Another came rushing in with a stretcher, meeting the group and staring at the damage.

"What happened?" the woman demanded.

"He was fucking shot, what the fuck does it look like?!" Kenny screamed, watching Kyle's eyes drooping further and further. The redhead couldn't seem to form a thought, couldn't understand why so many people were surrounding him, why Kenny was yelling so loudly. He shuddered, trying to make his arms move to grab his sopping blanket to cover himself more efficiently, confused when his bound arms refused to move.

A loud snapping sound radiated around him, eyes still hazily locked on Kenny's devastated face as Stan reached past the blonde, grabbing the bolt cutters and snapping around sections of bars in quick succession. They stared at each other with glossed eyes, Kenny begging for him to stay with him before Kyle finally let out a long breath that he didn't know he'd been holding and let his eyes slip shut. He vaguely heard Kenny screaming for him to wake back up, but couldn't seem to do so. He quietly wondered to himself if Craig had drugged him again, mind overtaken by a quiet, damp fog and keeping him seated in an aura of nothingness as he slowly slipped out of consciousness and gratefully drifted into a painless sleep.

Kenny gritted his teeth through his tears, standing and ripping the top of the cage off as soon as Stan snapped the last bar. He shoved the paramedic away and reached in, cupping under Kyle's side and carefully rolling him over, reaching under his back and legs and hefting him out of the confinement. His heart stopped as the blanket slid off of him and more damage was so clearly spelled out in a horrifying array of color. His eyes hit the gleam of the collar as the boy's head fell back limply, Kyle's name spelled so prominently on the tag. The blonde shook himself out of his shaken state and moved to cautiously set Kyle down on the propped stretcher, watching as he was urgently wheeled away from him towards the blaring lights. "I...I gotta..." he murmured, shoving off Stan's comforting hand on his arm and taking off after them.

He ran straight into Sergeant Yates as he crossed the door, both recovering from the impact and staring at each other. Kenny's lip trembled, tears rushing down his cheeks. "This is _your_ fault," he hissed before shoving him out of the way and sprinting to the ambulance, one of the paramedics pointing him to the front cab. The blonde hurried and jumped in as told, nearly tripping over himself in his haste. Yates watched blankly as the doors slammed and the truck sped off back down the hill, sirens blaring loudly once again.

He glanced over to see Craig being escorted to a separate ambulance and forced in, cursing and fighting all the way. He rubbed the back of his neck, walking into the barn and heading quietly towards Murphy. He looked at Stan, Cartman, and Clyde all glaring at him and cleared his throat. "Are you boys all right?"

"We're fine. Unlike Kyle," Stan spat. "You could've fucking stopped this on day fucking one!" he shouted, flinching as Clyde put a hand on his shoulder. "He could've _never_ been hurt!"

"Stan, come on," Clyde murmured from behind his hand cupping his bloody nose.

Murphy sighed, "We'll need you boys to come to the station. We need to know what happened."

"I'll tell you _exactly_ what happened," Stan snapped, pulling away from Clyde's hand. "A cop with his head shoved up his ass so far he couldn't see the blatant fucking truth might have killed my best friend! How's _that_ for what fucking happened?!" he demanded.

Cartman cleared his throat and grabbed Stan's arm. "We'll meet you at the station if we don't have to ride in an actual cop car," he muttered to the detective.

"That's not necessary," he replied softly, looking at his stationary partner. "We'll meet you there, boys."

They all shot Yates another scathing look before Clyde and Cartman began leading the distraught noirette out of the building and to ask for a ride down the hill. Yates gulped and crossed his arms, stepping over to look at the bloodied cage and shaking his head. "I really thought it was McCormick," he said softly.

"Well...intuition isn't always right, Sir," Murphy replied quietly.

"Yours was," he murmured, eyes slithering over to the chain jutting from the pole. He let a long breath out of his nose. "I might've killed this kid."

Murphy bit his lip, "I'm sure he'll be okay, Harrison. It was just his shoulder...I'm sure he'll be fine," he repeated, not entirely sure who he was trying to convince more.

"I should've listened to McCormick. I should've listened to all the kids...I should've gotten the damn warrant," he muttered, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

His partner stared at him before taking a deep breath. "Yeah. You should have." He turned on his heel and headed back to the straggling cops still lingering outside, giving them directions that couldn't quite hit Yates' ears. The sergeant looked back at the bloodied blanket and closed his eyes, shaking his head once more and standing alone in silence in the frigid, arid enclosure.


	37. Chapter 37

He stared down at the table angrily, grey eyes scanning over patterns in the wood. He clenched his hand cuffed to the chair he was situated on, glancing over the heavy cast covering his torn left arm. Craig sighed irritably, tired and beyond annoyed from being thrown out of the hospital and transported to the county jail. His patience was at its end. He just wanted to get this stupid process _over with_.

His ears perked as the door opened, looking to see a very angry Yates and Murphy stepping in. "Gentlemen," he said dryly.

"Cut it," Yates said sharply, the both of them taking their seats and staring him down. Craig straightened up, meeting the stare of the sergeant head on, lips curling into a smirk.

"Betcha wish _this_ was the room I was in a month ago, huh?"

"Watch it, Tucker," Murphy warned darkly. He threw a folder onto the table with a sharp _smack_. Yates had been dealing with enough doubt over his abilities, Murphy spending the last three days talking him out of a damn early retirement over the matter. He wasn't about to lose any progress from the asshole across from him. "You have the option to wait for an attorney."

He scoffed, "For what? I'm not retarded. No fucking lawyer pain in the ass is going to help me. None of 'em will care as much about me as much as Broflovski's will about him."

"And what makes you say that?" Yates questioned.

Craig rolled his bloodshot eyes, "Because his fucking _dad_ is going to be his lawyer, fucking duh."

Murphy smacked his lips, "So, you're not going to hire a lawyer?"

"I really don't have a reason, now do I?" he said flatly.

The men looked at each other before looking back at the criminal before them, taking a deep breath at his stony glare that'd fooled them so _easily_ a mere month before. "Fine the courts will appoint you one down the way. Now, why'd you do it?" Yates demanded.

He shrugged with his mobile arm, "Took what I earned."

"You think you _earned_ a person?" the detective narrowed his eyes. "What makes you say that?"

The boy stared at him straight on, a slight curl sneaking on the edge of his lips. "Broflovski knows. That's all that matters."

"No, _we_ need to know," Yates snapped. "Mr. Broflovski will tell us, but why don't we get _your_ side, too?"

He scoffed derisively. "He needed someone to take care of him," he said plainly.

"And you think drugging, kidnapping, and abusing is 'care'?"

"Some learn through reward, others through punishment," he smirked. "Broflovski's just stubborn, needs put in his place."

Murphy frowned, "No, he's _smart_. He knows that's not how you treat a fucking person, Tucker."

He let out a small huff of a laugh through his nose. "Well. Good thing he's not so much a person then, isn't it?"

Yates frowned deeper, tapping his finger on the table. "Right, you think he's a fucking dog." He watched the boy shrug casually and shook his head, trying to beat down his mind screaming at him yet again for letting the psychopath before him slip through the cracks. Never before had he found himself feeling _so_ guilty about screwing up a case. Never before had he found himself staring down a man he thought to be completely innocent with such a nasty crime committed that he could barely wrap his brain around it. He sighed, "Why do you think that Mr. Broflovski is a dog?"

"Because he _acts_ like one," he stated. "Begging for attention, giving into someone taking care of him, being McCormick's little lap puppy," he rolled his eyes. "Hell, he said it himself: What he did for work wasn't anything necessary, just extra. Like a dog. Don't need one, but it's nice to come home to," he said.

"You mean being in a happy relationship?" Murphy bit with narrowed hazel eyes piercing through the noirette.

"How do you know it's actually happy?" he challenged.

Yates frowned, "Because no one in a miserable relationship would risk going to jail or getting shot over the other person."

"McCormick's just as much as an attention whore as Broflovski," he scoffed. "He just wanted to take the dog back to come home to and lavish him with attention."

The men looked at each other once more, the sergeant shaking his head. "You messed up a good kid, Tucker," he said lowly. "We've talked to your mutual 'friends', though now you've lost all of them," he scoffed. "They told us how Broflovski was nothing but kind to you. You really think you're going to be able to sleep at night knowing how much you screwed with him?"

Craig grinned, stone eyes gleaming deviously as that downtrodden defeated expression plastered along his mind, his completed symphony echoing beautifully, "Like a puppy."

* * *

The old stereotype rang true, hospital food was fucking terrible. Kenny unhappily bit into a meatball sub that Sheila had forced on him before she and Gerald had wandered off to walk around the hospital and stretch their legs, chewing through the watery sauce and clumpy meat and holding back a string of vomit. This had been it for two days, staring at the family waiting room walls, drawing his eyes along the tacky wallpaper's swirling design time and again until it made him nauseous. He looked beside him at Ike playing on his phone, tilting his head. "The hell is that?" he asked.

"Word puzzle game," Ike mumbled tiredly, cracking his neck.

"Nerd," he snorted.

Ike looked at him and smirked, punching his arm. "Keep it up and you'll be thankful for where we are when I break your nose."

"Harsh, lil' bro," he teased, ruffling Ike's hair.

The boy groaned, batting his hand away. "You can't call me that, you lousy homo. I barely let Ky call me that."

"Ay, I am a _fantastic_ homo. Ask your brother," he elbowed him. Ike rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Still don't know what he sees in you."

He shrugged, "Well, I mean, probably just the homo-ness. Slim pickin's 'round these here parts, so I'm thinkin' I happened to be the default."

"I'm inclined to agree," he said dryly, chuckling at Kenny's pathetic pout.

"Stop being dicks, you two," Stan mumbled from his other side, flipping through a magazine and scanning with listless eyes. "Or you're _both_ getting wheeled out of here."

"Gee. Thanks," Kenny scoffed, taking another bite of his nasty lunch. He sighed, leaning back in his chair and glancing at the clock reading 2:13. Time was dragging so terribly, and the lack of sleep certainly wasn't helping matters. He rubbed his eyes as he gulped down the thin marinara, brain betraying him yet again and reminding him of how good Kyle's was. He rolled his eyes, beyond sick of the constant memories still flooding over him. He knew where the redhead was now, he knew he was safe. But he figured until he actually _talked_ to him, he'd still be stuck in this horrible limbo of uncertainty.

His hopes seemed to finallybe coming to fruition as a nurse popped her head into the small room, looking at the three of them with a small smile. "Which one of you is Kenny?"

"Me!" he exclaimed, throwing the sandwich onto Ike and splashing sauce onto his shirt as he jumped up, ignoring the 16 year old punching his leg angrily at the mess.

She nodded softly, "He's awake. He wants to see you first," she beckoned him to follow and Kenny grinned, hurrying after her and biting his lip excitedly. Finally. Fucking _finally_. He hopped impatiently as she took her sweet time, leading him down the hall to room 153 and gesturing. "There you are. Be careful, he can be pretty...timid," she said carefully. "The pain relievers are pretty strong, but he's still flinching now and then."

"Gotcha," he nodded, waving her away and gently cracking open the door, finding that splash of auburn hair standing out brightly against the pristine white and beige room. He stepped inside and Kyle looked over from staring out the window at the sound, the green of his eyes beaming through the purple still lingering around the shining orbs in the afternoon light. Kenny closed the door behind him, his excitement dying all at once at the sight of the aching mess waiting for him. He gulped, eyes hitting the sling holding his right arm and biting his lip guiltily.

"...You gonna come in orrr...?" Kyle raised his brow.

Kenny smiled fondly at the familiar impatient tone, just that enough to know that Kyle was still in there under the cuts and bruises. He pushed himself off the barrier and made way over towards him, cupping his tired face lightly. "How ya doin'?" he asked lovingly as his thumb stroked his cheek.

He shrugged, leaning into his palm, "I'm...here," he winced. "Kinda foggy...but...better than I have been," he laughed humorlessly. He looked at Kenny's saddened face guiltily, "How're you?"

The blonde rolled his eyes, "I _really_ don't think how I feel is what matters in this situation, Ky."

"It matters to me," he said softly.

He snorted, sitting down on the edge of his bed and running his thumb carefully over his brow. "I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine," he shrugged. "Might not be so fine when these awesome drugs wear off, but for now, I'm okay," he smiled crookedly. Kenny laughed quietly, eyes tracing down to the indentations of the collar still circling his slender throat, his hospital gown dipping just enough on his chest to see a splash of the remains of Craig's teeth marks. He jerked up as Kyle's working hand grabbed his chin and pulled his attention back. "Don't look at those," he said quietly. "Please don't."

He nodded with a cringe, "Sorry. I just-"

"Ken," he cut him off, closing his eyes and taking a shaking breath. "Just...don't. Okay?"

"Okay," he whispered. Kyle's hand grabbed his shirt and weakly tugged him forward, pressing their lips together. They both sighed in relief at the familiar comfort that they could so easily fall into, hands tracing up into hair and twisting through oily locks.

Kyle laughed a little, pulling back just a hair. "You need a shower. You smell like your old house."

Kenny snorted, "You smell like a bedpan, so we're fucking even."

The redhead rolled his eyes amusedly, kissing him again before bowing his head down under Kenny's chin and nuzzling against his throat. Kenny looked down at him and smiled adoringly, wrapping his arm around his good side. He kissed the crown of his head and sighed happily. He was just happy to have him back and awake, talking and touching, breathing without a damn tube. Despite the circumstances, it was perfect. For both of them.

"So, did they tell you anything when you woke up?" Kenny asked quietly, almost hating to ruin the moment but knowing it was necessary.

"A lot," he muttered exhaustively against his skin, free hand reaching up and holding Kenny's arm for stabilization, stroking over the muscle tone methodically. "Have a mild concussion, my leg's gonna be pretty fucked up for awhile, and if my wrists heal completely, everyone will be surprised..." He paused, "Though, I guess those are my own damn fault," he rolled his eyes.

"Ky, _none_ of this is your fault," he said.

He waved the notion off, "I know, I know. I just mean...All of them happened from me doing something _stupid_ and trying to runwhen I should've just been waiting for you."

Kenny sighed, kissing his head again, "I'm sorry it took me so fucking long."

"Dude," he said, pulling back and looking at him. "You got there, that's all that matters."

"You got _shot_ ," he said with a cracking voice, trying to force his emotions back down for Kyle's sake.

The redhead looked down at Kenny's throat, brushing his fingers lightly against his collarbone. "Wanna know something _really_ ironic that makes me hate the world?" he murmured. Kenny cocked his head and Kyle let out a huff through his nose and his shoulder slumped. "The fucking cage apparently saved my fucking life."

Ken jerked back and blinked down at him. "What?"

"The police looked at it...the bullet hit one of the bars and changed course. It probably would've hit my throat otherwise..." he trailed off and shook his head. His weary brain was finally catching up with him as he said it aloud. He was so _close_ to being just gone, and by _Craig's_ fucking hand of all people. A particular memory struck him at once: _'I doubt you'd mind it. Me being the last you see and all.'_ The bastard almost made it happen. He bit his lip and looked down at the sheets, eyes burning with tears as they started to roll down his cheeks.

Kenny's heart dropped at the sight and he gathered him against him, Kyle pushing his face against his shoulder and sniffling. "Shh," he cooed, reaching up and rubbing his back. "I gotcha now."

"It was awful," he sobbed, losing control once more, tears staining the cotton separating them. "God...it was so fucking _awful_ , Kenny."

Kenny folded in his lips and bit them lightly, rubbing his head against Kyle's hair as his own tears snuck through. "I know, Babe, I know," he murmured, kissing his temple.

"They're gonna make me see him," he whispered, body trembling. "I...I don't want to see that fuck _ever_ again."

Kenny gulped, nodding slowly, "Ky, the only way you won't is to go to court."

"I know," he sniffled, turning his head against him and staring through glossy eyes at the wall across the room. "It's just not fair," he whimpered.

Ken nodded in agreement, continuing to rub over Kyle's back. "It sucks, Ky. It really does...I-I can't imagine how it feels for you."

"Like...I'm being punished," he said brokenly, a flinch racking through him that nearly knocked Kenny off the bed.

The blonde looked at him recovering from the jerk helplessly, able to see any hint of Kyle's strong disposition trying to wither away, the frail redhead fighting to regain what little control he still harbored in the moment. "What can I do, Ky?" he asked softly, reaching up and wiping tears from his cheekbone as Kyle fought for his stance back.

The redhead was silent for a few moments, minute tremors racing through him. He closed his eyes, placing his ear over Kenny's heart and taking comfort in the strong beats within. " _Don't leave me_ ," he pleaded, nothing more than a soft, desperate whisper barely breeching under the monotonous beep of his vitals equipment.

Kenny smiled sadly, grabbing his left hand and raising it to his lips, kissing each finger genially. "Never," he promised. "We're gonna get through this together, okay?" he said warmly by his ear. "We'll do whatever you need."

Kyle gulped, nodding and huddling into him closer, the both of them quietly relishing in the other's touch, just beyond happy to have that within their reach again. Kenny continued to softly pepper his face with brushes of his lips, each touch reminding Kyle with a staggering shock of loving heat that he was out of Craig's hands, he was protected and safe in his own skin once more, and he was _alive_. Everything that he'd prayed for had came true, bundled in the blonde package holding him so closely. What awaited him down the road could wait for then, what he had right then and there was all he needed to keep himself afloat, at least for now. He closed his burning eyes, a true appreciation for what he was experiencing at long last; Grateful for the comfort Kenny always provided him, grateful for the safety he was silently promising, and grateful to finally be back where he truly belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Considered epilogue. Decided against it. Literally it was just going to be Kyle telling Kenny he wanted to move away into the city away from empty space like it would've worked but I think this ties it up just fine. Also Lila went to Butters. This was also going to be mentioned but eh.
> 
> I know a ton of you wanted Craig to win, but, dudes I had way too much evidence stacked against the guy he was fucked regardless. Tbh he nearly died but I wanted the last speech. And Kyle to suffer more. Because I'm a terrible fucking person yey.
> 
> Hopefully you guys liked this one all the way through, I kind of lost my steam the last like five chapters but I wanted it done pfffff. This has reignited my Cryly love, though. They may be gettin' another one in the future, but we'll see.
> 
> So, for a final time, thanks for the support and comments and hope to catch you on another story! :)


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